Until the Dream Ends
by amidoh
Summary: Though he has committed some of the worst crimes imaginable, Starscream may still find that soul mates and, indeed, forgiveness can be found in the strangest of places... if he would just think to look. Eventual slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't, have never and will never, hold any claim over the Transformers franchise. All writings hereonin, apart from my Author Notes, are merely for my own amusement and are not intended in any way to make money or break copyright laws.

**Dedication**: This story, in its completed entirety, is dedicated to the following person for not only managing to give me the inspiration and the courage to keep on trucking, but for also very kindly plugging my début Transformers fic over at her profile without me even knowing :3 **NybCR**, this is for you and I hope you enjoy it as much as you deserve.

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**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 1**

"Perceptor!" The introverted scholar was interrupted from his speculations concerning the metabolism of organic beings by the familiar voice that cut across the combat bridge of the crashed starship. "Ain't you almost done?"

Of all the planets in this galaxy that the Ark could potentially have crashed on so many aeons ago, Perceptor was ecstatic that the third planet from the sun of this particular solar system had been the one. Apart from the fact that, had the Ark crashed upon the orbital rocks that the humans called Mercury or Venus, the Transformers would doubtless have been incinerated by the close proximity to the sun and the resultant heat, or frozen in place had the landing been on the red planet Mars or the dwarf Pluto – not to mention the giant gaseous spheres that remained, which the starship would have plummeted straight through with adverse effects, Earth had much going for it. The development of life was always a miracle on any planet, and the evolution of _sentient_ life, while not unheard of, was surprisingly rare considering the number of species that inhabited the vastness of the universe.

The humans were very much like the Transformers, similar both in structure and in mental workings. Both species experienced emotions and ambitions, such as the desire for security and the concept of love. It was an intriguing development that an organic life form should share so much with a metallic life form, and, of all the planets that the Ark could possibly have landed on, for all the robots who yearned for their home far away on Cybertron, the Autobot scientist, at least, was glad that it was Earth he was stranded on.

He was, quite simply, fascinated by the diversity of living matter on Earth, as was he intrigued by the elements that resided within the planet's crust and further down towards the core, as was he stimulated by the history of previous forms of life that evolution had rendered extinct. Perceptor was a scientific jack-of-all-trades and, here on Earth, he really was in his element of discovery and experiment; his comrades often expressed their exasperation at his contentment to scrutinise any compound that came within his gasp, and to speak to it as though it would tell him the answers it held to his questions by word of vocaliser.

Even the other leading intellects among the Autobots, namely Ratchet, Skyfire and Wheeljack, had often been heard expressing their amazement at Perceptor's ability to distract himself from studying something by the appearance of something _else_, often completely different, to study – but, it had to be said, they were all happy enough to limit themselves to their chosen schools; medicine, exploration and geology, and engineering respectively. Perceptor could not imagine limiting himself to one school of learning only, not when there was just so much to _know_.

"Give me just a moment, Ironhide." Perceptor called back, smiling at the amicable southern drawl that characterised the old warrior's way of speaking. With the hand that was not holding the soldering laser, he reached forward and carefully adjusted the lens on his microscope before again switching his optic input so he saw the magnified component he was working on. "I just need to finish attaching these meta-carbonate converters to Wheeljack's bipolar junction transistor and I'm done."

"Meta-carbo-_who_?" There was a scraping noise as metal rubbed against metal; no doubt Ironhide had raised a hand to his helmet in frustration at Perceptor's babbling. "D'aww, never mind, jus' get a move on before my tailpipes rust off."

Of course, Perceptor's peculiar desire to assimilate knowledge was invaluable to the Autobots in their war, and invaluable too to their human allies. If ever an unknown entity appeared, then it was Perceptor who was called upon to analyse it, and it was rare that he could not quickly work out exactly what it was and how to deal with it. His expertise with the mixing of various chemicals was an asset that the heroic Optimus Prime was loathe to risk losing from his arsenal of the brilliant and the brave, and the scholar was more than happy to share his talents with the flesh-made creatures that lived on this beautiful Earth. Optimus Prime had long before decreed that he would not loan the small people Autobot technology so that they could use it in their wars, instead he wished to further their civilisations with the gift.

Currently, Perceptor had agreed to help a team of research scientists better a mode of nuclear power conversion in a station that would be able to generate just over 300 gigawatts. While nuclear power had been available to the humans for some years now, the potential of the station Perceptor was helping to develop was unheard of in the past. It was a technological revolution.

The scientist had been very secretive about it, even to his Autobot comrades. His explanation was that the team of researchers and engineers he had agreed to work with were very nervous about the plans falling into the hands of another particular country, with whom relations were currently very rocky, and, perhaps more importantly, the less robots who knew of the power station, the less likely it was that the knowledge would fall into the hands of the Decepticons, who would doubtless take advantage of the nuclear power for their energon stores.

Because of the potential of the station, any siphoning of energy by Decepticons could have the result of a catastrophic nuclear meltdown, which would release radiation into the surrounding atmosphere and endanger the health of thousands of organic lifeforms for decades to come. This result was desired by no one, so Perceptor had remained tight-lipped about his involvement and what that entailed. He had confided in his comrades the location of the nuclear plant, just in case anything were to happen to him and the humans needed to be warned, but apart from that, he was the only one who knew anything.

Security was still a problem, of course. As the ever-paranoid Red Alert pointed out, there was always a chance, however slight, of an information leak. Teletraan did a good impression of omniscience when it came to the development of Earth technology, so information of Perceptor's involvement was doubtless on there somewhere, but it was a fallible computer system, vulnerable to bugging by the Decepticon Soundwave's team of infiltrators.

While perfectly capable of defending himself from attack, Perceptor was only one Autobot, and the Decepticons were more than likely to attack in force. As such, Red Alert and Prowl, with Prime's acquiescence, had organised a team of bodyguards to take turns escorting Perceptor whenever he left the Ark, at least until this whole business had blown over.

At first it had been a bother. An introvert by nature, Perceptor had not been easy about being so close to other robots so much of the time, especially when he was excited at the prospect of the nuclear plant's development. However, it was only a temporary measure; he was only expected to be working on the reactor for two or three weeks at most, and he was already halfway through that time.

It was for this very reason that Jazz, Prowl and Ironhide were patiently waiting in the entrance to the crashed Ark for their scientist friend to finish repairing Wheeljack's semiconductor device so that they could leave for a conference concerning the element that would be used in the nuclear reactor.

"All right, I'm done." Perceptor called, picking up the micro-component delicately between thumb and forefinger, and handing it to Ratchet so it could be reinstalled in its rightful owner. While Perceptor was more than capable of carrying out that task, it was the medic's field of expertise; nowhere was there anyone quite as accomplished at metallic surgery than Ratchet.

"It's about time." Ironhide droned, transforming into his vehicle mode as Perceptor strode casually out of the starship entrance, wringing his hands together distractedly. Beside the old warrior, sub-commanders Jazz and Prowl were already in their alternate forms, their engines chuntering away quietly. A restless noise from Ironhide brought Perceptor's attention back to the van transformer, whose back doors both opened. "Well? Transform an' hop in."

As a robot whose alternate mode was a microscope, Perceptor very often found travelling quite a chore, and he was glad for Ironhide's offer of transport. He sat carefully on the floor of the van's storage area and shifted into his Earth mode immediately so as not to weigh the other Autobot down. Ironhide's doors shut behind him and, with a loud revving of engines, the small convoy started down the mountainside road from the Ark's crash site towards the interstate.

"Shift over a bit, Perceptor." The red warrior grumbled quietly, and Perceptor obediently moved himself to the right. From outside Ironhide's walls, he could hear Prowl's voice as the tactician outlined the plan if something did go wrong.

" - Jazz, watch Ironhide while he waits for Perceptor to get out, Perceptor – you transform and get to somewhere safe, we'll cover you. Don't give away your position once you're there. Ironhide, how quickly will you be able to supply us with nitrogen?"

"Between half and two Earth seconds, I reckon." Came the old warrior's calm answer.

"If things look bad, spray the enemy once over and we'll pull out."

"I can't leave you fighting if it looks as though I could be of some use." Perceptor protested, but Prowl's stern voice left little room for argument.

"The whole reason that we're with you is to stop you from falling into enemy hands, Perceptor, I don't want you jeopardising that."

"Oh, lay off, Prowl." Jazz reprimanded his fellow officer, his voice carrying an amused tone. From inside Ironhide, Perceptor could perfectly visualise Prowl bristling in defence, but he knew that the military strategist would not argue with Jazz. "Perceptor's as Autobot as any of us, y'can't ask him to save his own hide at our expense. That's a Decepticon thing t'do."

"I'll get to somewhere safe, then I'll give you cover if it looks like you need it." Perceptor spoke hurriedly, the feeling that the Autobot second-in-command was close to giving them all a disciplinary lecture nagging at the back of his central processor.

Both Jazz and Ironhide dissolved into bouts of uncontrollable sniggers at the indignant exhalation that escaped Prowl's vocaliser, and Perceptor could not help joining in.

"Ahah... ah.. a_hem_, well, anyway," he stuttered after chuckling healthy at the antics of his bodyguards, trying to get his mind set on more serious matters again, "I appreciate your concern, Prowl, but let me reassure you – I would sooner die than give my knowledge to anyone who would use it for wrong."

A stony silence fell over the convoy of Autobot warriors as they registered the feeling behind the words of their pacifistic friend.

"Let's just hope it doesn't come down to that." Prowl said quietly at last, to subdued murmurs of agreement as the trio of cars turned onto the interstate highway and sped off towards their destination.

O

Unnoticed by the three Autobot warriors and their scientist ward, a red mechanical condor flew high above them. The inorganic beast's optics glowed as it scanned the landscape and calculated the coordinates, its black head turning this way and that to better gauge the scenery below, relaying it back to the most notorious of all Decepticons, the one called Megatron.

The silver warlord was far from stupid. He had noticed that the Autobots were being uncharacteristically secretive and he had sent Laserbeak, his silent flighted spy, to infiltrate the enemy headquarters and extract the needed information from their immensely knowledgeable but severely unguarded computer, Teletraan-1. For once, that which he had found out from Teletraan had not been enough. It seemed that the real answers lay with another Autobot, the genius scientist called Perceptor.

Megatron had acted immediately, ordering his lieutenant Starscream, who commanded the Decepticon air fleet, to organise his troops into teams to find and retrieve Perceptor without delay. Remarkably, considering his track record, Starscream had been quick to acquiesce, perhaps sensing the urgency in his leader's voice, and had instantly split his force into two groups. Watching his seekers leave the underwater base, Megatron had commanded his loyal officer Soundwave to release Laserbeak, who was smaller and whose engines were quieter than those of the jet Transformers and who was thus able to better avoid detection.

Deploying Laserbeak had been a wise move on Megatron's part; the covert robot had located the Autobot venture and, having alerted Megatron to this fact, was now able to transmit the coordinates to the group of seekers who were closest to the area. But moments later, the Transformers known as Thrust, Ramjet and Dirge had appeared beside the silent Laserbeak, all three in robot form, turbines on low, so that the prey below were not alerted to their airborne stalkers just yet.

Easily the most intelligent of the three jet Transformers, Thrust assumed command, assessing the situation as quickly as he was able and giving his quiet orders to his companions.

"Are you _sure_ he's there, Laserbeak?" He whispered hoarsely. "I see only three Autobots and not one of them is the one we want!"

Though the condor never spoke, a silent nod and a slight flare in his optics was enough to convey a positive answer to the yellow-eyed seeker, who turned his head to look at the scene again. Realisation dawned on him.

"He's in the van?" Another nod. "Right. Ramjet, you know what to do. Dirge, with me, we strike as soon as Ramjet does."

Both Thrust's colleagues indicated their approval and transformed into their alternate vehicular modes, moving to their positions, careful to keep the noise of their engines as quiet as possible, as surprise was of the essence now. Thrust himself spared the robotic condor one last glance before he too transformed.

"Laserbeak, join us when Ramjet's struck. Try to keep an eye on the scientist, catch him if you can. We want him alive." A silent nod from the mechanical beast was the only confirmation of understanding that Thrust received before he quietly flew off in the direction Thrust had taken, waiting on their black and white comrade to make his presence known to the enemy.

The first that the Autobots below knew of their attackers was when Ramjet ploughed straight into Ironhide's side, causing the van to crash through to the other side of the highway and come to rest on its roof, the warrior letting out a groan of pain.

Prowl and Jazz transformed instantly, blasters in hand, as the jet forms of Thrust and Dirge screamed out of the sky and the tarmac either side of them was torn up by laserfire.

"Perceptor!" Prowl yelled over the noise of the Decepticon weapons, a grimace crossing his face as one of the purple beams grazed the plating of his shoulder. Out of the corner of his optic, the strategist was aware of Perceptor, in robot form, scrambling out of Ironhide and fleeing for safety. "Ironhide, can you transform?"

"Don'... don' think so..."

"Jazz, cover Ironhide!" Dodging backwards at just the right moment, another beam of purple just missing his waist, Prowl took careful aim and fired his own ionic blaster, catching an approaching Dirge in the wing, sending the jet careening off into the road in a disarray of smoke and broken parts.

"I'm on it!" Jazz moved over to the fallen Ironhide, shifting his attentions between taking odd shots at Thrust and Laserbeak, who were dogging him with taunting beams, and trying to roll his companion back onto his wheels. "That's a nasty dent he gave you there, old timer," He commented airily on seeing the mangled metal where Ramjet's nosecone had struck, the adrenal chemicals pulsing through his processors and making Ironhide's situation almost humorous, "maybe you should think about retirin'?.

"It'll take more than one Deceptibum to take out ol' Ironhide." The battle-hardened soldier drawled, returning the banter as though they were having a friendly conversation in the safety of the Ark rather than being in the middle of a battlefield alive with gunfire.

From his hiding space, Perceptor watched his friends fighting his battle for him. Sacrificing themselves so that he would remain safe. Yes, he held knowledge that they didn't, knowledge that couldn't be allowed to fall into the hands of the enemy, but these were their lives that he was risking. The scientist knew that Prowl had ordered him to stay hidden, but he could not stand by and do nothing.

Ironhide was down, Prowl was struggling bravely on, favouring his injured arm while firing round after round at the remaining airborne Decepticons, Jazz was covering Ironhide and fending off a persistent Thrust. Ramjet had disappeared – probably fled, the Decepticons did so often – and Dirge was a smouldering wreck of twisted metal on the ground. It was looking to be in the Autobots' favour, at least.

Then Laserbeak banked away from Prowl and turned towards Jazz, whose attention was focussed on the dark red seeker. Perceptor leapt out from his hiding place in a panic as Laserbeak began to power up his twin laser rifles. "Jazz, look out, above you!"

Jazz turned to see Laserbeak almost on top of him. There was not enough time to bring up his blaster to defend himself, and the condor was almost at point blank range – a shot now would certainly be extremely damaging and perhaps even fatal to his systems.

An orange beam came from out of Jazz' peripheral vision, striking Laserbeak in the fuselage, sending him crashing into the tarmac to join Dirge as a smoking mess. Turning his head, Jazz saw Perceptor, in clear view, standing in triumph and waved his gratitude.

What happened next was too quick to stop.

Ramjet, who had pulled back from the fighting after disabling Ironhide to search for the concealed Perceptor, had found his prey now that the scientist had blown his cover by yelling and then firing. Kicking up his afterburners, the seeker hurtled at near supersonic speed towards the Autobot's unprotected back, catching him dead centre, just below his neck. The heavy impact jarred Perceptor's neurone transmitters, knocking his processor offline. He fell in a crumpled heap at Ramjet's undercarriage as the Decepticon landed. After skidding a metre or two as he slowed from the speed he had been travelling, Ramjet transformed and shot Jazz, who was running forward to help Perceptor, through the chest with one of the twin cannons on his arms, his accuracy deadly, before the Autobot sub-commander could fully comprehend what had even happened.

"Thrust! Give me backup, I got him!" The monochrome warrior called, hoisting the unconscious Perceptor over his shoulder and taking to the sky. His voice called to him the attention of Prowl, whose quick processor analysed the situation almost instantly. The strategist took careful aim at Ramjet, understanding that the Autobots had lost this skirmish and retrieving the fallen scientist was all that he could do now. Seeing his comrade hovering victorious, and Prowl ready to fire, Thrust goaded the fallen Dirge into transforming, hurriedly shot the Autobot's rifle from his hand, and gathered up Laserbeak. All three seekers turned and flew away from the battlefield in speedy but triumphant retreat, their quarry within their custody.

Staring after them in frustration and defeat, Prowl clutched his grazed shoulder absently, his hand twinging uncomfortably where Thrust's last shot had scorched it, cursing himself for letting the enemy win, and for failing in his duty to protect the meek scientist, before moving over to Ironhide and Jazz. By now, Ironhide had recovered from the aftershocks of Ramjet's impact to transform, and he did so, looking down at Jazz worryingly. While not bad enough to be life-threatening, the single shot fired by Ramjet had pierced the sub-commander's outer armour plating and had continued through into his internal components. He would need to be looked over by Ratchet before he would be safely functional again.

"Frag it!" Prowl hissed in defeat. "That idiot! I _told_ him to stay hidden!"

"But if Perceptor hadn't fired on Laserbeak, Jazz would 'ave been killed for sure." Rumbled Ironhide, transforming into his van form so that Prowl could load the supine warrior gently into his trunk for transport back to the Ark.

"I'm sure Jazz would have been proud to die, if his death prevented the Decepticons from getting whatever information Perceptor is hiding." Shaking his head, Prowl let go of his initial anger at the loss, looking once over the torn-up highway. He retrieved Jazz' dropped weapon and stowed it somewhere safely on his person, before transforming into his vehicle mode and setting his sirens so the two defeated warriors could limp back to the Ark in time to get Jazz the medical attention he desperately needed and to inform Prime of this terrible development.

He tried not to show how worried he was. It would not do for Ironhide to see his calm, calculating superior officer so shaken up by this turn of events. It was not only because they had failed Perceptor; Jazz had been hurt, and, though not many of their colleagues knew it, Jazz and Prowl were _very _close. Jazz was the absolute contrast to the strategist; fun-loving while Prowl was serious, empathetic while Prowl was emotionally disconnected, outspoken while Prowl was somewhat introverted. As a team, they worked efficiently and brilliantly, and as _lovers _they were perfect.

It pained him to think that Jazz was lying hurt just feet away and he could not do anything, not without taking him to Ratchet. It pained him that the preferable strategic turn of events would have culminated in Perceptor staying hidden, though that would no doubt have meant Jazz' death. It pained him too that he was able to remain detached enough from the situation to see himself coping with Jazz' death if it gave him that tactical advantage that he had planned, if Perceptor and, more importantly, the knowledge he held had remained safe. It pained him that he even considered the information Perceptor was keeping secret more important than the other robot himself. Perhaps Bumblebee was right. Perhaps he didn't care enough.

"I jus' hope for Perceptor's sake that they don' want that information too much." Ironhide spoke gloomily, cutting through Prowl's destructive thought spiral. The tough old soldier didn't want to imagine the lengths to which Megatron would go to get what he wanted, so he tried to reassure himself by adding hopefully: "Prime'll get 'im back, though."

"We can't spare the resources." Prowl responded, voice grim. "We can't be sure how quickly they'll manage to get Perceptor to talk. Strategically, it would be more advantageous if we concentrate our defences on the power plant. That's where they'll strike, sooner or later."

"An' leave Perceptor to whatever the Decepticons'll do to him?" The old warrior sounded disgusted at this idea, and his temper only deepened at Prowl's noise of confirmation. "That's monstrous! We're _Autobots,_ we don' leave our comrades to die!"

The noise from Prowl's vocaliser was hard to understand, somewhere between a sigh and a growl, before he spoke again.

"If we undertake a rescue mission, even as soon as we get back to the Ark, we would still have to organise warriors and get to the Decepticon underwater base. There's a chance that, by then, Megatron would already have got what he needs from Perceptor, and if that happens, then the power plant will be undefended when they attack it. Megatron would get his hands on whatever Perceptor's working on. Millions would die, the war might even be lost. Are you saying you would allow that possibility just to get one soldier back?" Another sigh interrupted the flow of speech as the Ark came in to view. "Perceptor is an Autobot. He wouldn't want his life to be saved at such a cost."

"So there's nothin' we can do for him?" The realisation hit Ironhide hard, reflecting in his voice, which was suddenly much more subdued in a stark contrast to the heated outrage than it had been.

"We can hope that he's resourceful enough to escape, however unlikely it is." The sub-commander answered pessimistically. "Other than that, we can only pray that he's brave enough to endure anything they throw at him and doesn't let them get what they want."

The two finished their journey in gloomy silence, both contemplating the no doubt horrendous fate of their unfortunate comrade. Throughout the the course of delivering Jazz to Ratchet's expert care and reporting to Optimus Prime the unfavourable direction that events had taken, neither found himself able to meet the eyes of any other mech; both saw Perceptor's smiling face staring back at them, and both wondered if they would ever see their cheerful, quirky friend again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 2**

While the Autobots were planning their course of defensive action, their enemies had returned to the crashed undersea starship with their captured prize to deliver him into Megatron's merciless clutches. The tyrant had been very pleased with his victorious seekers, inspecting their prisoner once over before ordering him to be thrown into the prison of the crashed starship to await the warlord's pleasure.

When Perceptor's neurone transmitters finally recovered from the shock that had knocked them offline and he regained consciousness, turning on his optics warily and trying to ignore the pounding ache in the back of his head, he was already in a cell in the enemy headquarters. He scanned the area quickly for any possible escape routes, but, as expected, it was a fruitless attempt; the bars were made of concentrated energy, which sparked and crackled, spitting menacingly at him, and the controls were out of his reach on the other side.

Of course, the Decepticons had taken the liberty of relieving him of anything that could be used as a weapon or projectile, so he could not even attempt to hit the innocuous little button from afar. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact he was well and truly a prisoner as he ran a check on his internal chronometer. Two cycles, or around four Earth hours, had passed since he had fallen in the fight on the highway.

He did not regret revealing himself for capture, despite that it had caused him and the precious knowledge he kept to fall into enemy hands. At least Jazz had not been killed – unless the fighting had continued after he had been knocked out, but all he could do was hope that the Autobots had managed to pull out without taking casualties. If they had been killed after he fell, then his intervention had been for nothing.

Prowl was probably beside himself with anger. This thought brought some small comfort to the imprisoned scientist as he stared at the blank purple metal of one of the walls of the cell. He had purposefully and knowingly disobeyed Prowl's direct orders. The strategist would have his transistors for toothpicks.

If he ever managed to return to the Ark alive, that is.

That wasn't a cheerful thought, but it was a reality that he now had to face. The Decepticons were ruthless, and would probably use any means to get the information they desired. There was only so much that his body could take, he knew, and the chances of him surviving to ever see his fellow Autobots again were looking depressingly slim.

All that he could do now was to build up his defences in the hope that whatever torture his captors had planned would kill him before he was coerced into giving away anything about the nuclear development. First and foremost was the mental defence. Soundwave was a telepath, and that was a problem. Even if Perceptor worked himself to endure every pain that could be thrown at him, it would be pointless if the Decepticon communications officer could just connect to his conscious and take the answers directly from his memory chips.

_Central processor: ninety five percent -- eighty percent -- sixty four percent -- forty one percent and stable, communication processor: disabled, navigational processor: disabled_

The scientist altered as many of his processes as he could, shutting down the non-vital functions to redirect the energy to the core areas that would help keep him alive, feeling that he would need it for whatever was sure to come, wanting to be able to hold out as long as possible in the faint hope that Prime and his friends would come to rescue him before he was killed. The central processor he programmed to run at forty one percent of normal capacity; that way, if Soundwave _did _attempt to connect their minds for telepathic penetration, the stress of it would overload Perceptor's cerebro-circuitry and deactivate him permanently, taking his secrets to the grave with him. A sacrifice befitting a true Autobot.

_Optic sensors: ninety percent input and stable, audio receptors: one hundred percent input and stable, olfactory sensors: ten percent input and stable, nervous receptors: two hundred percent input and locked._

Nervous receptors at two hundred percent? That wasn't good. That meant that every limb was twice as receptive to feelings, and that meant that any pain would be twice as extreme. And the function was locked; that meant he couldn't adjust it, not without the help of another medic to override the firewalls. It seemed that his captors had already taken the time to prepare him for interrogation.

An involuntary shiver wracked Perceptor's chassis as he considered this new development, wondering how long he could have held out under torture anyway, let alone with this increased sensitivity in his circuits. His chances of survival were dimming with each passing second.

It felt like hours that he sat there, on the cold metal floor, just waiting. According to his internal chronometer, it was only a single breem, no more and no less that he was waiting, anticipating what was coming, but his imagination kept carefully and graphically guiding him through what the Decepticons might do to him, shaking him to his very core. The minutes dragged onwards.

The purple of the wall opposite his cell darkened as a shadow fell across it, and the imprisoned Autobot looked through the bars almost in relief to see three of his greatest enemies approaching him smugly, all of them stopping some feet away from the energy cage to stare at him in triumph. There was Soundwave, stoic as ever, his red visor and silver faceplate giving away nothing of his thoughts or emotions. Perceptor silently envied him for that ability;_ his_ emotions were always plastered across his face, as easy to read as a human book. Then there was cruel Starscream, arguably the most hated of the Decepticons by the Autobot faction, none of whom lost any opportunity to assassinate his character or mock his hoarse, screechy voice and persistent but invariably fruitless attempts for leadership and power. And standing there, between both his lieutenants, the drone condor Laserbeak perched obediently on his shoulder, was the orchestrator of this entire war himself, splendid in his body of silver, black and red, a perfect embodiment of power, control and strength. Megatron himself had come to oversee Perceptor's interrogation.

"Greetings, Perceptor, the genius Autobot scientist." Megatron spoke, his tone falsely welcoming and friendly, the expressions of a tyrant who so loves to hear himself speak. Perceptor stared balefully at him, rising to his feet in defiance of what was surely to come. "You know what we want, I am sure, but just to make certain there are no misunderstandings, I shall make it clear to you. We want the information about the super-energy that your computer Teletraan has informed us you hold. This is your only chance to tell us willingly, or we shall have to use more inventive means."

As he was speaking, Megatron was running his left hand over the black barrel of the fusion cannon on his right arm. Perceptor tried not to look at it, though his overactive imagination was already wondering what it must feel like to be shot at by that thing, a sickeningly intriguing thought indeed.

"You will learn nothing from me." He said, his voice carrying a calmness that was far from mirrored in his fearful spark.

"Ahh, Autobot bravery." The Decepticon leader sighed, turning his back, still playing the gentleman. "Impressive... but futile and sadly misplaced. I had hoped it would not come to this." That was surely a lie, Megatron loved causing pain to others. He had probably been looking forward to this as soon as he received the news Perceptor had been kidnapped successfully – his sadism was betrayed by a twisted grin that flashed across his face as he beckoned one of his two guards. "Soundwave."

The loyal officer of few words stepped forward, and Perceptor was thankful he had thought to lower the input to his central processor. From Megatron's other side, Starscream raised his arms up, aiming both his mounted laser cannons at the captive scientist as Soundwave released the control to the cell. The energy bars disappeared and the communications officer moved right up next to the Autobot, who knew better than to make a run for it – Starscream's weapons – the famed null rays - would not kill him, they would simply disable him temporarily, and then he would have to endure punishment for attempting to escape on top of whatever torture was planned for him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He murmured quietly as Soundwave reached for his head to set up a telepathic link. Megatron turned back round to face his helpless victim, mildly amused interest showing on his face as he asked the obvious question.

"Why not?"

"Because I've adjusted the input to my cerebral functions. The establishment of a telepathic connection will overload them. I will die, and I will take the information with me." His voice was matter-of-fact, speaking of his death as though it was little more than a slight inconvenience.

An expression of impressed surprise crossed Megatron's face before he beckoned Soundwave back to him. The blue mech complied silently, returning to his leader's side, watching Perceptor with an inscrutable expression on his face.

"I admit that I did not expect you to be so resourceful, Perceptor." Megatron said at last, Laserbeak vacating his shoulder to return to cassette form and the safety of Soundwave's chest, before the tyrant turned his attention to the most erratic of his warriors. "Starscream. I leave control of his interrogation to you. I don't care what you do as long as you get me those results. Do not fail me."

"With pleasure, Megatron." Came the high-pitched response. The air commander smirked in savage anticipation at Perceptor, an expression which sent chills rushing through the scientist's hyper-sensitive limbs, as he lowered his laser cannons and moved slowly, confidently, over to his victim. Perceptor realised his mistake instantly and lowered his head but a fraction in shame. He had been so scared of death that he had revealed his trump card too early; the certainty of dying with the information safe when Soundwave probed his mind had been taken away now, and all because he had been afraid of termination – for but a fleeting moment, the possibility of life, even enduring torture, had looked more inviting than being killed. Perceptor cursed himself for his moment of cowardice as the sadistic air commander sneered at him: "I shall _enjoy_ this, Autobot filth."

Seemingly from nowhere, a tubular handle appeared in Starscream's cobalt hand, and, when a button on the side of the cylindrical structure was pressed, from the end extended a long and vicious-looking thread of pure, spittling energy, splitting off into three smaller wires near the end. Perceptor's optics widened in terror at the sight of the whip, and he backed away from the approaching seeker, until his body hit the cell wall, which he pressed into as though hoping it would swallow him.

"Save yourself the pain, Perceptor, and just tell us what we want to know." Megatron's calm voice cut through his audio circuitry; he could barely hear it over the combined pounding of his energon and adrenal pumps. Mutely, he shook his head, not trusting his voice but knowing that he would never, _never _willingly give them the information they wanted.

That was all the encouragement that the depraved torturer needed to start his interrogation.

Laughing manically, Starscream brought the whip down, catching Perceptor over the chest and shoulder with the burning, concentrated energy. Flashes of colour burst before the scientist's vision as the overload of information from his hyper-sensitive pain receptors caused his other functions to glitch; he was alert to little but the hurt, he was barely even aware of his own distressed, agonised shrieks as Starscream brought his cruel, biting weapon down again and again.

It was impossible to say how long it went on for. It felt like hours, but his internal chronometer was malfunctioning along with the rest of his non-vital processes due to the extreme signals coming from his pain receptors. At some point, he must have turned to face the wall in a vain attempt to shield himself, to protect himself from the whip, for the stinging blows moved around to his back, but he didn't remember taking any such actions - at least not voluntarily, not by conscious decision.

The next thing he knew, he was on his hands and knees, staring blearily at the floor. The lashes had stopped, but the pain was far from gone; his front and both his arms were covered in stinging lacerations that cut into the alloy exostructure, and he didn't even want to consider what his state his back was in, fearing it might look as bad as it felt. Energon was oozing from the fresh wounds and running down his fevered body, so cold it almost hurt against the heated metal, to spatter sickeningly on the ground.

Starscream's foot connected with his waist, throwing him across the room to land on his back, the excruciating mix of signals enticing another involuntary whimper from his vocaliser. Through blurred vision, he could see the air commander stowing the energon whip away on his person and, for a moment, for one glorious moment, poor naïve Perceptor thought that his torture was over.

That illusion was quickly shattered as another cylindrical object appeared in the seeker's blue hand. This one had twin electrodes at one and, and a wicked current passed between them, crackling ominously. The live end of this device was pressed into the crook of Perceptor's neck, and a new shock of white-hot agony shot through his systems, causing his body to jerk without his control and tearing another howl from his throat.

"St-stop... please..." He heard himself begging, his voice hardly his own any more as energon and hot oil pooled in his mouth from a rupture in one of the minor veins in his neck, choking the noise and spilling from his lips down his chin.

"Tell me what you know, scum!" Starscream screeched in his high-pitched voice, jabbing his pain-inducing implement viciously into Perceptor's throat. The scientist dissolved into fits of incoherent screaming, a horrendous mixture agonised cries and desperately calling the names of his friends, calling for help from them. His life-giving fluids sprayed from his mouth, half vaporised, to splash on Starscream's face, and a look of insane, wild exhilaration passed through those unforgiving red optics as the captive recovered from the shock enough to stutter his response.

"Tell y-you... n-... nothing..." He managed, after the electrodes had been withdrawn and he was able to regain some amount of control over his vocaliser. A snarl of impatience escaped his tormentor and, through glitching optics, he saw the dreadful device being brought round to jab into the tender metal of his neck again - but, thankfully, Starscream's hand was stilled by another voice before he could make contact.

"You _still_ have not got what I want?" It was Megatron. Suddenly, Starscream had moved away from the crumpled, bleeding body of the scientist on the floor to speak with his master. Perceptor willed himself to regain some control over his systems as uncontrollable spasms coursed through his chassis, certain that there would only be more to come and that he would need to endure just a bit longer...

"No, Megatron." Starscream admitted, irritation carrying in his tone as he sneered down at the unfortunate subject of their discussion, the tone of his voice signifying that he thought of Perceptor as little more than a blemish upon the floor. "The Autobot refuses to tell me."

"Perhaps you are losing your touch?" The Decepticon leader commented wryly, staring at the broken form of his captive while taunting his lieutenant, well aware that Starscream was possibly the best in his army at dishing out suffering and effective torture. Victims were usually willing to spill their life stories after a cycle or two as Starscream's playthings; it was rare that anyone lasted as long as Perceptor had. "Perhaps it is time for me to consider replacing you?"

"Replace me!" The seeker spat, aiming a kick at a trembling Perceptor to vent his frustration. "You'd be a fool to do such a thing!"

"Be that as it may, my patience has worn thin." It was a harsh warning accompanied by a disdainful red stare that caused Starscream to match it with his own, optics glowering unflinchingly back at his hated master. "I am bored with waiting for his answers. You have failed me again, Starscream."

"Ktchah!" The air commander growled in disgust. "This is hardly my fault, _oh mighty leader_. You could have just had Soundwave use his telepathy and saved me the bother!"

"You heard the Autobot, he has taken measures to prevent Soundwave being able to extract the information. To attempt it would be foolish. We would lose our prisoner."

"He lies!"

"We cannot take that chance, Starscream! If there is even the slightest possibility of his cranial circuits overloading, tapping into his head is not a possibility. I want the information he is hiding from me. I _want _it. I can not extract it if the only mech who knows it is dead." Megatron snapped at his disrespectful officer, before a disturbing expression of thoughtfulness crossed his silver face. "Hmm... actually, you may just have given me an idea." The ruby optics stared calmly at Starscream, who, despite all his hatred for his leader, could not help quailing a little under the sheer power and dominance that those eyes conveyed.

"If we cannot tap into his head, then we shall tap into his spark..." The silver warrior spoke thoughtfully, considering the shivering Autobot on the ground with a calculating stare. "I doubt he thought to prepare himself for that possibility... Bond with him, Starscream." The cold order was given, a black hand indicating their helpless victim. "Bond with him and take the answers I desire from his soul."

Starscream's mouth fell open, his optics widening in disbelief at the order. From his position on the ground, Perceptor was barely aware of his torturer shaking his head, as though it would negate the command he had just been given – and for once, he prayed that Starscream would be successful. Bonds... bonds were forever, they were like contracts between souls to be drawn up by two lovers so that they would be able to spend eternity together...

"You're insane!" The seeker managed at last, pointing an accusatory digit at his leader, who responded with merely a level stare. "You can't ask me to -! No! I won't do it!"

"You _will _do as I say or I shall melt you down for scrap, you insubordinate Primus-forsaken slagspawn." The Decepticon commander brought the impressive bulk of his fusion cannon to point at his disobedient lieutenant, who flinched visibly at the sight of the bottomless black pit of the barrel.

"But a bond!" He protested desperately, watching the end of the cannon with wary optics, not relishing the idea of having it fired at him but liking his new orders even less. "How _dare_ you ask me to put myself into a bond with him!? It's meant to be an act of love! It's meant to be saved for the one you want to spend the rest of your life with!"

"Oh, Starscream, I didn't know you _loved _someone." The mocking taunt stung the seeker, who snarled defensively.

"Of course I don't -"

"Then you should have no reason to want to save yourself for anyone and no excuse for not obeying your master." Megatron interrupted with a smirk, his voice final and leaving no room for any more argument, watching as his seeker tried to come up with a new way to protest, but knowing that he had won. Starscream's gaze dragged from the terrible weapon to Perceptor's quivering, battered form and back again before he stared at the floor, his shoulders sagging in bad-tempered acquiescence.

With one last almost-hopeful glare up at his master, as though thinking that there was still a chance for the order to be retracted, he reached down, hauling Perceptor up by the neck and slamming the helpless Autobot into the wall, keeping him pinned around the throat with one hand while the other brutishly attempted to open the red chest plating. With all the strength he had left in him, the scientist fought his tormentor, trying to pull away, trying to stop Starscream's hands from opening his body and revealing his spark chamber. Desperation lent him its power; bonds were forever, they did not vanish as soon as they were done with – he didn't want to be bonded with _Starscream_, no, no...

"Just tell me." Starscream snarled, losing patience and ripping Perceptor's chest open, ignoring the hot fuel that spattered over his face and up his arms from the injured body he held, forcing the smaller Autobot to the ground, keeping a tight grip on his throat. "Tell me and save yourself the violation!"

"No, I won't," Perceptor managed with as much defiance as he could muster, trying to keep his voice from wavering but sobbing for air in his vents as he felt Starscream's weight upon him, crushing him. He turned his head away so that he did not have to see the Decepticon opening the area behind his golden cockpit, the area where his spark was hidden away. Turned his head away as though it would not happen if he didn't see it, trying to deny what was now inevitable. His struggles weakened but still he fought. "I won't betray my friends!"

"Some friends!" The air commander spat roughly, hitting Perceptor hard as the scientist's hands pressed on his body, trying in vain to force them apart. Stars burst in front of the Autobot's optics at the impact, but he doggedly continued trying to push Starscream off him. Then the seeker's hand closed on his slender neck tightly, and he scrabbled a futile attempt to pry that painful grip away, trying in vain to loosen the fingers that dug chokingly into the pliable metal as Starscream continued his aggressive taunt. "They've left you here to rot!"

There was no response from Perceptor, who had shut his optics off, trying to deny to himself that his innermost self was exposed to the heartless _monster _above him. He wished that he could shut off his touch sensors as easily; he didn't want to feel Starscream over him. He didn't want to feel this. He could have coped with more physical pain, such as the flogging – but not with this. Not with this.

Then there came the pressure as Starscream lowered himself down to let their sparks merge, as they became one with each other. A terrible sickening feeling washed over Perceptor, threatening to overwhelm him as he realised that Starscream was now irreversibly imprinted upon his soul as his bondmate, as the seeker's conscious manifested in his spark and began to carelessly rip through his recent memories, searching for the data he had been keeping so secret. Perceptor tried to retreat inside himself to escape from the humiliation, but everywhere he tried to hide, Starscream was there, swamping him, drowning him. All his personal thoughts and private feelings were suddenly thrown into the open for his enemy to look through.

A terrible cold feeling coursed through his body as Starscream was violating him, and he realised it was because the air commander had blocked his own spark off carefully, keeping Perceptor from making the bond mutual and discovering anything about his tormentor, and the icy abandon that this act of isolation caused filled the helpless victim's spark with a horrible emptiness. That didn't matter. Perceptor wasn't interested in doing such a thing as delving into the seeker's spark anyway. He wanted nothing to do with this cruel monster, this feral, animalistic beast that was Starscream, he just wanted this mockery of a bond to be over as quickly as possible so that he could forget about it, pretend it had never happened...

"Get on with it." The heartless voice came as though from far away. He vaguely registered it as Megatron's before the sudden comprehension that his humiliation was being watched by another caused his optics to burn in shame.

Starscream's searching suddenly became more frantic and savage, tearing through memories and emotions like laser fire through a body, with comparable pain. Perceptor felt as though he was being ripped in two from the inside – was he screaming? Was that _his_ voice yelling so loud, yelling for someone, for _anyone _to come and save him? Did it even matter? No one was coming. No one at all.

Unbidden, the images of the nuclear plant swam to the forefront of Perceptor's memory, and the scientist realised, with mixed feelings of guilt and relief, that Starscream had found what he was looking for, committing what he saw in Perceptor's conscious to his own recall chips. All that the Autobot had carefully guarded was out in the open.

Then at last – finally, thankfully – Starscream released Perceptor's spark from his, separating them again. Perceptor was glad that he was already on the floor, for all his strength had left him; even the hand that had been weakly clawing at Starscream's face fell lifelessly to rest by his cheek as the air commander rose off him. The spark holder behind the golden canopy was closed instantly; Perceptor was left as he was, life-force exposed to the world, a broken shell of who he had been just earlier that same day.

"Well?" Megatron demanded of his lieutenant, who seemed to have little trouble readjusting after the forced bond he had just engaged in.

"It's a nuclear energy plant that he is working on developing with the humans." Starscream answered, and perhaps it was just Perceptor's fevered imagination, but his raspy voice sounded just a tad less... alive than it had done prior to their bonding. ... No, that was just impossible. Starscream's tone was detached, as though he had just carried out a routine operation. He appeared completely unaffected by the horrendous act of taboo he had just committed. "It will have enormous potential."

"Perfect!" The tyrant laughed openly, clapping his officer on the back with such force that Starscream stumbled forwards a step, righting himself to snarl at his hated leader. Megatron, his humour good, turned his attention to Perceptor, who stared at him unseeingly through his blue optics, usually glowing so brightly but now only a dull, soulless glimmer as he sluggishly coaxed his hands to close his spark chamber and hide it from view. "Well _done_ Perceptor, I knew you would be useful!"

The scientist could not even think to regain any control over his mouth, let alone formulate a response. He simply stared listlessly at the figures before him. Starscream did not even spare him another glance before brushing quickly out of the prison, leaving the captive alone with Megatron. Perceptor let his gaze rest blankly on the unforgiving purple of the cell floor, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was bonded now. Bonded. It sounded so permanent – it _was_ so permanent. And to Starscream, no less...

An expression of uncomprehending anguish crossed Perceptor's gentle face as he buried his head in his hands, out of view. Megatron watched him in amusement, re-activating the control for the cell door, a slight chuckle the only sign betraying his sadism as the bars of concentrated energy again descended from the ceiling, blocking Perceptor from freedom again. The scientist had started to shiver, his knees held tightly up to his chin, clutching at his own arms convulsively as though he feared he might disappear if he did not hold on to himself.

With another noise of relish at the shudders of repulsion that shook Perceptor's frame, Megatron turned and left the prison in the direction Starscream had taken.

Their broken captive slipped into emergency stasis not long after, the leak of energon from the welts on his body after interrogation weakening him sufficiently. His sleep was far from peaceful, haunted by mocking laughter and blue hands probing his soul.


	3. Chapter 3

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 3**

_Drip..._

He knew the whole of the cell perfectly by now.

There was an energon spill up the right wall which had dried onto the deep purple metal. A groove in the floor near the back where someone had scrabbled for an escape route – just as he himself had done countless times around the circumference of the small room now. Someone had died in the corner; there was the unmistakable denting of death throes and the tinny, metallic smell of decay...

_Drip..._

After waking from his troubled stasis, feeling no better than he did when he descended into it, Perceptor had immediately tried to distract himself from the aches in his scarred frame and damaged psyche by investigating his prison for any sign of a route to flee. A weakness in the walls, a fault in the bars, anything at all – but there was nothing. He had lost count of the number of times he had searched and searched again, but each time there had been nothing to find. Even if there had been, the flight into the sea would surely have killed him; the salt water in his open wounds would have corroded his most delicate internal components and led to a slow, agonising termination.

He was well and truly trapped. He knew the whole of the cell perfectly by now.

_Drip..._

To the left was a scrape of white paint on the wall, about as far up as his knee. He didn't know who it had belonged to. He didn't want to consider it, either. A fist-sized dent just a little higher than his head spoke of volumes of despair and torment, as he was feeling now. Perhaps if he had a self-destructive personality, or even the strength to lift his arm an throw a punch, he would add his contribution to the cold prison.

Instead there was only the constant reminder of his open wounds. They were festering, the energon mixing with the oil and lubricating chemicals that leaked steadily out, crusting over the once-polished plating, trapping inside his body the dirt picked up from writhing in agony on the floor. The most comfortable position he had found was to prop himself against the wall on his shoulder; though there were lacerations there too, the injuries caused by the whip on his back and chest were far more serious, and excruciating to put any pressure on.

_Drip... drip..._

Where was that even _coming_ from? That dull splashing, was it from him, or was it some other source of moisture falling? It was only quiet, but it was the only thing to listen to, apart from the dull crackling of static from the bars, and that small relief had already become inaudible to his receptors. Just that ungodly dripping left. Echoing about the small room.

_Drip..._

It was going to drive him slowly insane.

Amazingly enough, his central processor had managed to anaesthetise his systems to a dull throbbing while he was stationary, even with the increased input from his nervous receptors. Yet every movement jarred his joints and disturbed the cuts, sending biting lances throughout his limbs, so, after desperately trying to distract himself from reality by endlessly searching the cell, he had given up because of the stress movement put his body through. Leaving him nothing to do but think, exactly what he had been trying to stop himself from doing.

Perceptor would not ever describe himself as brave, and, while silently pleased at any compliment he received, he modestly thought that those who believed he was brave were wrong. For him, the decisive evidence of his cowardice was that he had failed to take the quick option of death when he had had the chance. Now he was reduced to a nervous wreck upon the floor, flinching whenever a shadow passed over the lights or footsteps sounded from the corridor.

_Drip..._

Why was no one coming? Surely the Autobots had had enough time to organise a rescue party? They _must_ be organising a rescue party... right? They wouldn't leave one of their own to rot here... no, they wouldn't. In fact, in fact, they were probably working their way through the Decepticon base right now! Perceptor found himself throwing a hopeful glance at the entrance to the prison, as though his comrades would suddenly appear...

... They weren't coming, were they? It didn't take _that_ long to organise a rescue party, not when there were lives at stake. Perceptor knew that Prime had managed it much quicker in the past for other captured warriors. Ha. They weren't coming at all, no, they probably had... probably had _other_ things to concentrate on, yes, that's it, more important things to worry about. Well, the scientist resolved to himself, if they would not come for him, then he would at least die well. He would make them proud of him. He would make them proud that he was an Autobot.

But... but if they... the Decepticons, if they started to beat him again -

_Drip..._

The only blessing in this hell was that Starscream had not come into the prison since the interrogation.

The scientist did not know whether or not he could stomach seeing the seeker again, let alone so soon. Even thinking about him brought back memories that he wanted to forget; the bond that now existed between them was a taboo, a mockery. It was permanent, the eternal promise between lovers, and it had been used so callously – Perceptor was tied to Starscream inescapably, and for what? Even the sight of the air commander's wingmates, Thundercracker and Skywarp, who had both taken a turn of guard duty, unsettled the scientist; they were of such similar build to Starscream that it was hard to look at them and not see him sneering back.

Why were they keeping him now? They were done with him, surely? They had what they wanted. Or perhaps they were going to forget about him here? He was... fine with that. Having them forget about him was certainly preferable to having them pay attention to him, at least...

_Drip... drrrrip..._

Footsteps sounded in the corridor again, and Perceptor flinched automatically; he invariably did, a nervous reaction spawned from his most recent experiences. No matter how many times he told himself that he should not let his fear show, that he should be Autobot enough to deal with this, that he should try and act like Ironhide or Brawn or any of the other stronger warriors would no doubt act in his situation, his body disobeyed him. He told himself he should not be this afraid. The footsteps usually passed by anyway.

Not this time, apparently. They became steadily louder, and, with them, Perceptor's limbs tensed. He hoped, so fervently hoped that it was just a changeover of the guard.

No such luck. The imprisoned Autobot hid his face as the footsteps drew nearer still, finally stopping just on the other side of the bars. When he at last managed to gather enough of his courage to look up at the figure whose shadow was casting strange lights through the dancing energy beams of his cage, he saw Megatron lounging lazily next to the control panel, watching him with that same smug amusement on his face that he had had when ordering Starscream to carry out the unthinkable, unholy bond that now joined him with his prisoner.

_...drip..._

"You're looking in bad shape, Perceptor." The Decepticon commander-in-chief commented airily, and, in an act of defiance that belied his beliefs about his own cowardice, Perceptor bared his teeth in a snarl. At that, Megatron's playful expression darkened and he flicked off the switch that controlled the concentrated beams of the cell, advancing towards his helpless captive with a deadly intent showing in his ruby optics. Perceptor tried to draw back in fear, but the wall stopped his retreat and his limbs screamed complaint at the movement.

"I want the co-ordinates to this power plant." Megatron stated, his voice cold, hard and unforgiving as one black hand grasped his captive by the throat, lifting him from the ground. In his grip, Perceptor struggled and coughed, the rough treatment grazing the already ruptured vein sorely and scraping on his voice modifier circuitry.

"St-stop, I'll t-tell you..." He croaked, a whimper torn from his vocaliser as Megatron unceremoniously dropped him. The tyrant rubbed his hands together while Perceptor was gasping out the co-ordinates hurriedly, as though wiping away non-existent germs from picking up the filthy Autobot.

"There now, was that really so hard?" The silver warlord questioned, his voice once again mockingly jovial as Perceptor turned his optics to the floor. Considering his victim for but a moment longer, Megatron turned his head to the side and called out for his lieutenant. "Starscream!"

"What!?" Came the waspish response as Starscream, the very mech that Perceptor did not want to see, came striding in to the prison, datapad in hand and in high ill-temper. He did not even deign to look at the pathetic wreck of the robot at his feet. "Can't you see I'm_ busy_? Get someone else to play with your Autobot doll!"

"I have grown bored with him." Megatron responded, surveying Starscream with his emotionless, bottomless, _fathomless_ red optics. "I have all I need. I want you to organise a strike force, Starscream, but do not move out yet. I will broadcast the co-ordinates of our destination when the time is right. First, though," his attention turned back to Perceptor, "we need to dispose of our friend here."

"Can't I just kill him?" The seeker growled irritably as he stowed the datapad neatly in a compartment in his torso gimbal, finally looking down at Perceptor and bringing up his twin laser cannons.

"No." Megatron pushed the barrel of the gun nearest him aside, causing Starscream to scowl at him in a mixture of hatred and disbelief, the seeker pulling his arm away from the touch hurriedly. "I want him to get back to the Autobots, or at least to put out a distress signal."

"What?" Starscream snapped, considering Perceptor for but a moment more before turning his rebellious stare onto his leader. "Are you going soft!?"

"Don't be stupid." The tyrant responded, in that hateful tone he seemed to reserve just for speaking to Starscream. "Do not question me, Starscream. Take him and dump him somewhere. Be gentle, I don't want him dying on the way. Then return here and organise your squadron, I want them ready to make a hit-and-run attack if necessary."

"We do hit-and-run skirmishes now? What happened to brute force?" Sneered the officer tauntingly, but his laughter was cut short and his smirk died on his face when the dark end of Megatron's fusion cannon was thrust almost into his mouth.

"Are you questioning me!?" The warlord demanded of his rebellious lieutenant, who hurriedly shook his head, bravado suddenly gone.

"O-of course not, mighty one." He wheedled, taking a step backwards away from the barrel of the dreadful weapon. "I-I was just... I was simply pointing out that it is not usually your style to take speed over power."

"For once, Starscream, _your_ approach to fighting may be useful to me." Was stated simply, Megatron regarding his cowardly officer with contempt before lowering his cannon. "Now, you have your orders and I expect them to be carried out to the word, or there will be repercussions."

"Yes, mighty Megatron..." The air commander nodded as Megatron stalked out of the prison. For a moment, he was visibly battling with himself, one of his null ray cannons even rising up to point at his hated leader's unprotected back, but then rationality and self-preservation seemed to win out over belligerent ambition for once and he turned back to regard the broken microscope-transformer on the floor. With a grimace, he let his eyes wash over Perceptor's form, and the Autobot tensed up under the scrutiny, unable to meet Starscream's optics. The sight of his bondmate filled the scientist with new waves of shame; he didn't want to look at the monster, didn't want to consider him at all, didn't even want him to exist. Perhaps then he would be able to convince himself that this had all been a bad dream...

"Transform, Autobot." Came the curt order. Seeing the expression of anger on the seeker's face, Perceptor complied as well as he could, not wanting to do anything to provoke the officer's cruel wrath.

It was a symphony of agonies. His limbs complained violently at the movement, his torso screamed at the jostling, his systems burned from lack of energy and the shifting of mass that was an integral part of his transformation into his microscope form took its toll on him, leaving him in his alternate mode but utterly drained, barely able even to think straight.

Wordlessly, Starscream gathered up the microscope and strode towards the docking tower of the underwater starship, glaring anybody who passed him into submission. His ire was great; Megatron was taking him for granted again, and now he had to deliver this Autobot scum back to its own kind.

Depositing Perceptor's small form in his cockpit carefully, if only to preserve the delicate flight equipment within rather than out of any concern for his dying foe, Starscream transformed to his jet mode as the docking tower rose above sea level, firing energy into his afterburners and shooting into the sky in a flurry of flame and heat-distorted air. He tore through the atmosphere, nearing his maximum speed; he wanted the Autobot out of his sight as soon as was possible. The very _sight_ of the red microscope-transformer sickened him to the core.

In a matter of minutes, Starscream was flying at a more sedate speed in American airspace. He slowed even more over a large spread of desert; there was nothing but red sand and towering mesas for as far as his sensors could detect. Coming in close to the ground, he opened the hatch at the bottom of the cockpit, and Perceptor's tiny alternate form fell out without resistance, bouncing in the sand. It would be to the seeker's advantage if the injured enemy perished right there; one less Autobot to deal with was a boon, and getting rid of Perceptor had moved right up on the seeker's priority list recently. If it weren't for the strict orders he had received, Starscream would probably have shot Perceptor through the spark right there, but once again his fear of Megatron's retribution kept him obedient for now, and he flew off without a backwards glance, glad to be rid of his unwanted bondmate and having no qualms about leaving the Autobot to fend for himself.

Perceptor allowed himself a breem or so to recover from the sharp landing impact, which had jarred his battered form uncomfortably and forced him out of his alt-mode (his emergency energy reserves had been far too depleted to keep him transformed, what with the amount of his mass that needed to be displaced for him to maintain the smaller microscope-mode), before he re-activated his communication output and set a steady signal on distress frequency. He could not keep the signal up for long; he was dangerously low on energon and after the inactivity it had been kept in during his imprisonment, his communicator was unable to transmit anything but a weak signal... but it didn't matter to him whether the Autobots came for him now or not. At least he could say he tried. At least if he died, he would die free now, surrounded by the beauty of Earth's nature.

O

At the nuclear power plant was one of two groups that Optimus Prime had organised his army into. The defence group split again, so that while one shift was on duty, the other could recharge. That way, there was never a time when the power plant was without Autobots guarding it. Most of those who accompanied him to the probable battlefield were his best warriors. Few had been spared to guard the Ark, among them Wheeljack and the Dinobots, as Prowl calculated that Megatron would be likely to strike the energy facility in force and would quickly overwhelm a small defence party. Red Alert had been left at the Ark to provide an early warning of an attack, and Inferno had stayed with him because the two were nigh inseparable. With them had stayed most of the Autobots whose areas of expertise did not lie in combat, such as Beachcomber and Seaspray.

Hoist and Grapple had accompanied the defence group at first, as their expertise was needed to build a bunker. This structure now acted as a temporary base, with portable recharge berths for tiring warriors and medical facilities for tending to any battlefield wounded. With the Decepticon intelligence unknown, Prowl had been unable to accurately predict when their strike might be, so Prime had prepared to stay at the power plant for a while. Wheeljack had joined the two of them later to add one of his inventions to the bunker; a device specially tailored to project a large shield, almost like a forcefield though not tailored to withstand persistent attacks, to cover the circumference of the power plant; it would befuddle the sensors of anyone who did not know the exact co-ordinates of the plant, making it seem as though there was nothing but desert there. Amazingly enough for a 'Wheeljack invention', it had worked first try.

As soon as the bunker was completed, the two builders and the engineer had been allowed back to the Ark, though Prime had asked Grapple to stay on alert in case there were any repairs needed for bomb damage. There was certainly a bitter retort from the architect about all his masterpieces being blown sky-high by Decepticons after that conversation. Indeed, the orange Autobot had left the temporary site muttering darkly to his partner Hoist about wanting to someday build something that would last.

Ratchet had come with the warriors to the power plant; with his team of scientists depleted by one after the loss of Perceptor, and Wheeljack remaining in the Ark, Prime had asked his chief medical officer to supply battleground relief to the injured, and Ratchet had agreed immediately. With him were Ironhide and Jazz, who had made a full recovery since his injury on the highway. Prowl had been brought along because Prime needed him, and their forces were brought to respectable numbers by several brave warriors, among them the Lamborghini brothers Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Prowl's fellow Datsun-transformer Bluestreak and the Minibots Brawn, Cliffjumper, Windcharger and Bumblebee.

"Prime!" The medic called, hurrying over to his leader, who was in conference with Prowl regarding the best course of action should the Decepticons bring Devastator in their attack force.

"What is it, Ratchet?" Optimus spoke levelly, interrupted from the conversation with his strategist and looking up calmly.

"We're picking up a signal on the SOS frequency." The white Transformer gave his report, a slight gasp in his voice. "It's from Perceptor."

"What? He's still alive?" Prowl's head snapped up in surprise; for all his analysis of Decepticon tactics, he had not anticipated them ever releasing their captive apart from as spare parts.

"How far from here?" Prime asked sternly, emphasising the urgency of the situation but keeping his tone calm.

"Not far, not far, about five or six Earth miles at most. The interference from the cloaking shield is messing it up a bit so I can't be exact, I'll know as soon as I'm out of the vicinity." The medic shook his head. "We keep losing it, though, it doesn't sound like he's in good shape."

"It'll be a trap." The Autobots' second-in-command noted gloomily, staring out into the distance. "Either the Decepticons will be waiting in force for us to go to him or they're planning on attacking here as soon as we leave."

"We can't leave him, Prowl." Prime pointed out to the Datsun-transformer gently before turning back to his medic. "Ratchet, take Jazz and Brawn, go to where this signal is coming from and bring Perceptor back. Be extremely careful. As Prowl pointed out, there's a high probability you're walking into a trap."

"Right." Ratchet paused as he turned to find the two warriors assigned to accompany him. "We could probably use some back-up. What about Mirage? Is he around?"

"No, I let him stay with Red in the Ark." The Autobot leader answered. "You know what he's like about fighting. Take Sideswipe, he'll be good if you need a speedy decoy."

"Mirage would have been _better..._" Was the inaudible reply that Ratchet grumbled to himself. With an irritated twitch of his head, he hurried away to rally his rescue party, making a mental note to reconfigure Mirage's personality data – or at least have a serious talk with him about the responsibilities of a soldier.

O

Consciousness was fleeting, and probably not important. Colours were mingling, and equally unnecessary. The wind that blew sand against his chassis was almost pleasant and soothing. Putting out a radio frequency had become too tiresome now; he was content to lie against the hot dirt and lose himself in the sensations of freedom. Freedom to do what he wanted, to go where he pleased, even if he was not technically _able_ to...

Voices came from above him, swirling together and barely understandable, but there were... three people speaking. It was hard, but if he concentrated, he could just about work out the words that were being said.

"Dear Primus..."

"What the slag did they _do_ to him!?"

A hand closed around his arm, gentle but firm, and a thrill of panic rushed through him. Were_ they_ coming back to take his free will away again? Was he going to be belittled and shamed by_ them_ again? Not in this lifetime, never again. He fought against whoever-it-was, scratching and biting out at the hands that were suddenly flashing in front of his optics, his vision clearing only to focus on them.

"Ratchet, he's panickin'!"

"Get away from me!" Screeching in a raspy voice he did not recognise, he felt his fingers claw against pliable metal – had he just caught someone in the face?

"Hey, woah Perceptor, woah, calm down - it's me!"

"Hold him still now, hold him _still_..."

Someone was pressing down on his chest, and the scientist lashed out again. He recognised the voices but his logic centres, steadily being deprived of energy, were shorting; he could not for the life of him associate them with anyone he knew. Cool metal ran along his overheating helmet and there was a dull tingling and the faint, irritating buzzing of a surgical laser.

The world suddenly became a lot clearer.

"J-Jazz?" The name tumbled from Perceptor's mouth as a haze of paranoia lifted from his sight and he realised just who he had been clawing. The sub-commander fell back in relief from holding Perceptor's chest down, rubbing his cheek. Behind him was Ratchet, a laser scalpel in one hand and a worried look plastered on his face, and there was another two shapes further back – one red and black and white and the other a yellow-brown – but it was too blurry to make out who they were.

"S'good to have you back, Perceptor." The visored robot smiled briefly before calling to someone Perceptor could not see. "Ratchet, that's sorted it. Transform back. Brawn, help me get Perceptor into Ratchet." His kindly voice washed over the injured scientist in waves of warmth, promising safety. "Don't worry Perceptor, it's over, you're safe now."

"Your face..." Perceptor murmured faintly to Jazz, looking at the scrape on the sub-commander's pale cheek as Brawn lifted his shoulders effortlessly from the desert floor. An inexorable wave of drunken dizziness was overtaking him. "I'm sorry..."

"Aw, don't worry about it." The sub-commander interrupted lightly, helping the smaller warrior load their exhausted comrade into the back of Ratchet's ambulance mode. "Y'weren't thinkin' right."

"There's a couple of small batteries there somewhere, Brawn." Ratchet's gravelly voice called out. "Link Perceptor up to them so he can recharge some on the way."

"There, done." The yellow warrior plugged the wires into Perceptor's limp body, and immediately the scientist felt the benefit; his limbs, which had been burning from lack of energy, suddenly fell thankfully numb except for tingling not unlike paraesthesia in humans.

"Don't worry, Perceptor." Sideswipe's concerned expression appeared in front of Perceptor's optics and he rearranged his own mouth into a smile in gratitude at the kind words that followed, even if they were slightly egotistical. "I'm here to protect you. No Decepticons are gonna get by me, no way!"

"Oh yeah, like that'll make him feel any better." He could almost _hear_ Ratchet rolling his eyes as the medic retorted cynically, starting his engine. "Come on, the quicker I get him back to Prime, the quicker I can repair him and we can all stop worrying."

It was good to be back among friends. Their amiable bickering was reassuring and instilled a feeling of calm, as welcome as if he were back in the familiarity of home. The ambulance doors closed and Perceptor let his systems shut down into stasis in the knowledge that he was at last safe again.

O

"How is he?" The familiar voice was distorted, as though he was hearing it through honey. His reflexes were sluggish, but, overall, Perceptor felt better than he had done for days.

"He's much better. He's not in any immediate danger, all his physical wounds have healed very well for the amount of time they were left to accumulate impurities and there's no sign of any circuit corrosion. As for his emotional state... well, I'm hoping that he'll pull through it."

"Is there a high chance he won't?"

"From the state he was in, I can only say that he underwent pretty severe torture. Memories that vivid don't fade overnight, and you know my feelings about memory suppression. He'll recover, but it'll probably take some time before he's the Perceptor we knew before."

"At least he is still with us. I thought for sure that he would be killed."

"What about you? Did anything happen while we were getting him back?"

"Yes. Prowl was right – the Decepticons launched a hit-and-run attack almost immediately after you were out of recall range. I don't think it was ever meant to be a full raid – it was probably a ploy to gauge our resources here so that they can prepare for a proper attack."

"I was going to say, hit-and-run doesn't really sound like Megatron's style. Maybe he's listening to that squeaky sub-commander of his at last."

"I hope he is not. Starscream may be arrogant and narcissistic, but he _is_ intelligent and a gifted tactician. We would struggle a lot more in this war if Megatron listened the advice of his lieutenants more frequently."

Perceptor switched on his optics, the orange metal of the medical bay so bright under the focussed examination lights that it dazzled him for a moment before he saw the two figures who were having their quiet conversation by the side of the medical table he was on. It was Ratchet, of course, and next to him was the great leader himself – Optimus Prime.

"Prime..." Perceptor spoke, his voice strong and recognisable as his again at last.

"Perceptor!" The heroic leader and his medic turned their attention to their scientist comrade as he levered himself shakily into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the table. "How are you feeling?"

"As... well as can be expected, thank you." He nodded, looking down at his arms and torso. There was not a sign of the vicious gashes that had been there previously. Ratchet was a medical genius indeed.

Refreshed, and with a nagging feeling that he should be making himself useful, Perceptor made to rise from the table but he was stopped by his leader's hand falling upon his shoulder.

"Don't worry, just rest for now." Prime spoke pressingly, his tone making clear that he would not hear of Perceptor doing anything other than relaxing. "You've been through a lot."

Gratefully, Perceptor lay back on the table, staring at the orange ceiling. Some part of his over-inquisitive brain wondered why the Decepticon structures always seemed to be in metal of purple, while Autobot buildings were almost invariably of orange, when an unwelcome thought came crashing into his conscious.

"Optimus!" He gushed, sitting bolt upright again with such force that poor Ratchet stumbled backwards in alarm. Never one to show outward surprise, Optimus settled for staring at his scientist's sudden outburst. "The Decepticons! They got the information, I, I'm sorry, I held out as long as I could, I -"

"Calm down, Perceptor." The truck-transformer tilted his head to the side as he reassured his recovering friend. "We've already organised a defence. You held out as long as you could – that's more than I could ask of any Autobot. I'm very proud of your bravery. There's no need to worry yourself any further over this matter."

Mollified, Perceptor allowed Ratchet to check over his systems again. That he didn't have to go into detail about what exactly had caused him to give their enemies the knowledge they had wanted was a great easement on his spark; he didn't know whether he would be able to bear telling anyone. Not yet. He would have to come to terms with it himself first.

"There you are." Ratchet spoke with satisfaction, closing the panel on Perceptor's thigh after checking the neural circuits there. "Good as new, and I overrode the firewall that was keeping your nervous receptors on two hundred percent input."

"Thanks Ratchet, and thank you Optimus." Perceptor flexed his limbs experimentally, nodding to himself when he was able to move them freely without lances of agony pulsing through his systems. He rose from the table to stand on his own two feet, despite Prime's earlier protestations. "Sorry to disobey you, Optimus, but I want to get back to my research and put all of this behind me as quickly as possible. Please excuse me..."

As he wandered off towards what looked like it would probably be a computer, Ratchet commented to Prime in a low voice:

"There goes an Autobot who is braver than he'll ever believe."


	4. Chapter 4

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 4**

It would have been easier to distract himself from events that he would rather were left to rest if the other Autobots would treat him as though nothing had happened, Perceptor thought to himself glumly, twirling a wire around his finger in absent-minded deliberation while welding a transistor with his spare hand. It wasn't that he begrudged them their concern about him, for it was flattering how much they cared, but it having so many worried faces asking him if he would be all right only meant he had to keep thinking about what he had recovered from to give an honest answer.

Ideally, they would drop the subject, but he could not think of a way to ask them that did not sound churlish and ungrateful. After all they had done for him, he felt he had to at least accept their fussing.

His research was public knowledge now; the enemy knew, there was no reason to bother painstakingly keeping it secret. That meant that very many of the robots had volunteered their help. Again, Perceptor was grateful for the offers but he really wanted to work on his own so that he could fully appreciate the mechanics and lose himself in talking to them. It had seemed rude to turn the helpful offers down – they were only worried about him, after all – so several of his comrades were now carrying out odd jobs around the research facilities in the temporary bunker.

At least this had meant that Ratchet and Prime had no reason to complain that he was over-exerting himself after his ordeal. It had only been half a day since Perceptor had excused himself from the medical bay against his leader's orders, and Prime had followed after him to speak with him. After discussion, the Autobot general had agreed that it would be better for his scientist to take his mind off things, but that Ratchet had advised against taking on too much at once.

Who knew, maybe it was Ratchet putting the idle warriors up to offering their help? It was just the sort of thing that the chief medical officer would do, after all...

Inexplicably, Perceptor had been troubled by severe and abrupt turns of emotion. In the middle of a conversation with Prowl, and again in another conversation with Ironhide, Brawn and Bluestreak, he had been struck by an extreme fit of loneliness, though he could not for the life of him think what had triggered it. While graciously accepting offers of help from warriors who were not busy on guard duty, he had felt a wave of powerful anger consume him, bristling as though he had been slighted, though in retrospect there had been nothing to take offence at.

"Hmm... then reformatting the solenoid valve to _this_ actuator instead of the thermal bimorph might accentuate the energy output and lead to greater efficiency..." He muttered to the thin loop of wire coiled around his finger, cocking his head as though listening to its unspoken answer. "Ahh, I see, that could lead to overheating? No matter, no matter, circumnavigate the structure with coolants and filter it through the vents, problem dealt with..."

As he took up his soldering iron and began the careful, exact process of fastening the thin wire to the transistor he had just secured, another unexpected surge of emotion hit him; an angry hatred, though he was not sure against what, and a bitter feeling of unfairness, more violent than before. His grip around the heated device tightened and his hand shook in rage. The wire fell from the fingers of his other hand, which ground together, twitching just that bit closer to the molten metal on the tip of the solderer...

"Ouch!" Perceptor dropped his instrument, shoving his burned fingers into his mouth and sucking them. As quickly as it had arrived, the feeling of anger had dissipated, leaving him wondering at himself while his glowing blue optics stared down accusingly at the dropped tool. Taking his grey digits from his mouth, he looked them over; there was barely even a mark to show where the metal had been singed, and the stinging was beginning to fade already. "Maybe I_ am_ working too hard?"

"Hey Perceptor." A shout from the side of the room behind him drew his attention away from his strange emotional state and he turned to see Jazz struggling under a pile of generators nearly as tall as him. "Th' humans said you want these?"

"Oh. Hm?" Blinking, Perceptor shook his head. "Oh! Right, yes, thank you Jazz. Put them over here by this turbine please..."

The Autobot sub-commander complied, hauling his armful of parts to carefully deposit them where the scientist had indicated. Once done with his errand, Jazz turned to face his friend, meeting the piercing blue eyes with his own glimmering visor.

"Anythin' else you need?" Came the question, and Perceptor shook his head.

"No, thank you. You've done more than enough."

"Hey, no worries. I never really thanked you for savin' my life and all, just figured you could use a hand with all this." Came the carefree answer as Jazz waved his hand, casually indicating the pile of generators he had just put down.

"Saving your life...? Hm. Oh! Oh, right, but don't worry about it." It took Perceptor a moment to recall the event that Jazz was talking about, and the Autobot sub-commander watched the scientist uncertainly; while he was usually what one would describe as scatter-brained, he was not usually _quite_ so vacant, and it was a little worrying.

"You ok, man?" He asked suspiciously.

"Huh? Yes, fine – what brought that on?" The microscope-transformer responded, utterly nonplussed.

"You're bein' kinda absent-minded. I mean, more absent-minded than usual." Jazz leaned lackadaisically against the control console that Perceptor had been working on. "So, you ok?"

"Yes." The scientist answered, watching his friend. Jazz was a good robot. He was always ready to listen and give advice. He was impulsive and improvisational, the polar opposite of his bondmate Prowl, but that meant that he was unpredictable and always certain to entertain. And he was good at understanding and comforting. If there was anyone to talk to about this, then it was Jazz. Abruptly, Pereptor changed his answer. "No. I'm not really ok."

"Nah, didn't think so. What's eatin' you?"

"..." There was a pause as Perceptor tried to vocalise the questions that were tumbling around in his processor. "Jazz, you're bonded with Prowl right?"

"Sure I am. What about it?"

"What's it like to be bonded?"

"Huh?" Jazz looked a little taken aback at the question; whatever he had expected Perceptor to ask, that had been the last thing on his mind. The scientist, while suffering from an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, had never shown any inclination to bonds or love before, and Jazz was a little concerned at the unexpected development – but he didn't show it, instead thinking how best to answer before he asked questions of his own.

Putting the intense feelings of having a loved bondmate into words was challenging, and for a moment he mouthed wordlessly as he tried to express himself. "It's the best thing that's ever happened to me, it's like I'm never alone 'cause I can always feel Prowl in my spark. An' I can always tell what he's feelin', 'cause our souls're linked together. It's like a sort of warmth that spreads all through me from my spark. Why, you thinkin' of bondin' with someone?"

"Not... not _exactly_..." The scientist chewed distractedly at his lower lip. "You can feel his emotions?"

"Sure, only the strong ones though." Jazz answered with a shrug. "Otherwise it would be too overwhelmin' to deal with. Seriously, this is kinda out of the blue, why do you wanna know?"

"So if I was bonded to someone and he was feeling, say, intense anger, I would feel it too?" Perceptor pressed, ignoring the question asked of him, hoping Jazz would not ask it again but knowing that he almost certainly would.

"Probably, it depends how strong the anger was and how tightly interlaced your sparks are I guess." Jazz took a stern approach, his hands falling on Perceptor's shoulders. "What's happenin', Perceptor? Why the sudden interest in bonds?"

"Well..." Perceptor battled with himself, but Jazz was one of the Autobots he got along with very well and he had no wish to jeopardise that friendship. Staring into the honest face before him, he felt as though that he needed to tell someone before the anxiety ate him away, and that Jazz was one of the few that he would trust to speak to. "I... I'm already bonded, you see, I was just wondering..."

"Already bonded?" Jazz interrupted, the surprise registering in his tone. "Wow, man, y'kept that secret! Congratulations! I never would've guessed, you never really seemed to be that close with any of... of the Autobots..."

His voice trailed off and he pulled his head back from Perceptor, who could too easily see the direction that Jazz' thought process had taken. He shook his head hurriedly.

"Oh, it's nothing like _that_, it's just... well, you see... when Megatron and – when I was being, uh, interrogated by the Decepticons, they... Well, I wouldn't tell them and Megatron got impatient, he told – he ordered Starscream to..." The soft-spoken scientist broke off for a moment, steeling himself for the declaration he was about to make and regaining control over a voice that had started to shake a little. Through his azure eyes, he could see Jazz watching him worriedly, and he decided not to waste any more words. "Starscream bonded with me."

There was a long silence. Perceptor again nibbled nervously at his lip after his blurted confession and Jazz stared blankly into space, the inquisitive expression on his face melting into a look of disbelieving horror as his processor worked to comprehend the words that he hoped he had not heard.

"He didn't!" But a sad nod from Perceptor confirmed the opposite. "That.. that's obscene! They forced you into a bond!?" Again Perceptor's only answer was to nod. "That's disgusting! How can they use something as meanin'ful as a bond like that!? As a tool of war! What kinda monster is Starscream, to allow himself to be bonded with you just for a snippet of information that wasn' worth it? Primus, no wonder you've been distant..."

Perceptor shifted uncomfortably, each word that Jazz said making him feel even worse about the reality of it all. He had thought he was feeling as bad as he could possibly feel – apparently he had been wrong.

"So..." he started, trying to divert Jazz away from his righteous tirade, trying to take a purely clinical approach to something he was involved with on a very emotional level. "So... well, since I got back I've been having these flashes of – of anger and of loneliness. Do you think that they're coming from him? From Starscream, through our... through the bond? It's rather doubtful that they're caused by anything_ I'm_ experiencing, they appear to be completely random... I had thought my cerebro-circuitry was glitching, but Ratchet has only just checked it over, and he's got a good eye for detail – this is the only other reason I could think..."

"Could be." Jazz answered darkly. "But don' feel sorry for Starscream if you do settle for that conclusion. He's a monster. He _deserves_ to be alone. Heck, anyone who would do what they've done to you deserves no end of punishment."

"Perhaps..." Perceptor agreed awkwardly, focussing his gaze at a point slightly to the left of Jazz' head. He had no real desire to talk about anything pertaining to the bond he had been forced to undergo, but now that it was out in the open, he had a feeling that Jazz would be loathe to forget it.

Thankfully, both robots were distracted from the conversation, even if it was only a temporary diversion, by the sudden arrival of a third figure in Perceptor's small laboratory. It was Prowl. He burst through the door exuding a air of calmness and control but looking rather concerned, his gaze immediately falling on Jazz before drifting over to Perceptor questioningly, his lightning-fast logic centres analysing the scene and trying to gauge the reason for the intense dislike he had suddenly felt being conveyed to him from the spark of his bondmate.

"Jazz," he spoke, his tone soothing and level, "are you all right? Did something happen?"

"Nah, I'm fine." Jazz answered. Prowl's abrupt appearance had calmed him down a little; his voice was no longer tinged with the fearsome hatred he now felt for Starscream after what Perceptor had told him. He glanced at the scientist, silently asking whether Prowl should know of the conversation between them.

Perceptor shrugged. He knew from experience that very little was private between bondmates, so Prowl was sure to find out sooner or later. He had a feeling that the tactician would prefer to find out from the mouth of his lover rather than from his spark, so he gave a single nod in permission for Jazz to say whatever he liked.

"I'm fine," Jazz repeated, turning his visored gaze back to the Datsun-transformer, "but Perceptor aint. Those Decepticruds've gone too far this time."

"The wounds will heal, you just need to give it time." Was Prowl's somewhat cold response. Perceptor knew better than to take offence at the near-dismissive tone; Prowl had his own ways of showing concern, and his status as a strategist too often called for him to place his loved ones in danger for him to willingly become emotionally involved with anything. The scientist thought that that would be the end of the discussion, but Jazz shook his head.

"They forced him into a bond, Prowl."

"What!?" Prowl's head whipped round and he stared at his scientist friend, fiercely demanding: "Who with?"

"Starscream..." Perceptor answered softly.

"He wouldn't give 'em the answers they wanted under torture so Starscream bonded with him to take 'em." Jazz explained, and an ill expression crossed over Prowl's face, the strategist now fully understanding and sympathising with his bondmate's earlier rush of hatred against the Decepticon air commander. After all, he now felt exactly the same.

"That evil slagspawned son of a retro-rat..." He uttered in a tone of sickened incredulity, appalled at the very idea. "Forgive me, Perceptor, when I told Prime we could not spread our resources to organise a rescue mission, I never thought... even _I_ could not have predicted... how could _anyone_ think it acceptable to do such a thing, even in a time of war!"

Perceptor winced as another twinge of loneliness lanced through him, for but a moment feeling completely isolated from both of the sub-commanders before him before the emotion passed. He was almost certain now that it was Starscream's emotion he was channelling and not his own; how could he be lonely when he had two friends as good as those who were standing before him now, radiating concern for his situation?

"Don't fret, Prowl." He forced a smile. "I don't blame you, you're right, the Autobots couldn't spare the resources. I'm only one person, after all, making sure that the war is not lost is more important than one life."

A gloomy silence descended on the three of them for a good few minutes; Prowl was trying to comprehend the unexpected information he had been given, which had been so out-of-the-blue it had partially scrambled his mechano-cortex centre temporarily, Jazz was snarling his disgust to himself and Perceptor was dully staring at the floor, regretting bringing the subject up at all.

At last, the microscope-transformer spoke, his voice quiet and rather subdued, and his request surprised both of the sub-commanders, more for the justification he gave it rather than what he was asking of them.

"I would prefer if you both did not tell anyone else about this. It... it's rather on the humiliating side..."

"Humiliatin'? Perceptor, don't worry about it!" Jazz protested instantaneously. "No one'll blame you for it! There's nothin' to be ashamed of, it aint your fault. You did as much as any Autobot could. Primus, you're the most Autobot of any of us, I'd say."

"Even so, I would prefer it if it did not become public knowledge." The scientist insisted reasonably. "I don't think I could bear everyone looking at me with pity. It's done, it's happened. Pitying me won't change a thing, and I can do without being treated as though I'm terminally injured. I mean, even at the moment some of the warriors are treading softly when I'm near them, as if they think that I might break down if I hear a noise, I don't think I could cope if it got any worse. I just want to forget it all. Put it all behind me and get on with life."

"That's fair enough," Prowl conceded, massaging his temples with one hand, "but don't you think that Prime should at least be informed? You know he'll do everything in his power to right this. He'll make sure that the evil ones are punished for you."

"Optimus doesn't need to know." Was Perceptor's firm response. "He has enough on his mind already without having to deal with the petty angst of one of his army."

"Petty angst!?" The tactician repeated in astonishment, his fingers stopping dead at one corner of the red chevron on his forehead as both he and his bondmate stared at the scientist. "Perceptor, you have every reason to be upset!"

"Be that as it may, Optimus can do without being bothered by something as small and inconsequential as this. It doesn't change anything for the Autobots, just for me – and I'm only one in an army. Optimus has enough responsibility." Perceptor answered, shrugging uncomfortably as his friends gawked at him. "Besides, I don't want anyone else to know, at least not yet. I'm not ready for that yet. I want to work out what it means for _me_ before I try to explain it to anyone else. And I have no desire for revenge. I'm a thinker, not a killer."

"Yes, but -"

"Please, excuse me..." The scientist interrupted what would have no doubt been quite a heated outburst from Prowl; it took a long time to crack the tactician's almost limitless patience, but once he had lost his temper, his ire could be extreme. "The Decepticons could attack at any time, and I still have a lot to do."

Without a backwards glance at the two other robots in the room, Perceptor quickly left, fully aware of the blue optics of both his friends studying him as he retreated from them.

"He's playin' it down too much." Jazz said to his bondmate as soon as he was sure Perceptor was out of hearing range. Prowl shrugged.

"It seems that way, but playing it down could make it easier for him to accept it." He said levelly, regaining some reign of control over his emotions now that Perceptor had left.

"He shouldn't _have_ to accept it is what I'm sayin'." The visored sub-commander responded, letting his head fall back to look at the ceiling of the temporary research laboratory. "Ahh, if only I'd paid more attention in that fight, then he never woulda had to come out of hidin'."

"There's no point crying over what's already happened." The tactician said sternly. "In this case, hindsight isn't going to do anybody any good. What's done is done and beating yourself up over it won't change a thing. Perceptor's right. We should try and move on."

A heavy, choking silence fell over the two of them for half a breem or so before Jazz launched himself to wrap his arms around Prowl in a tight, desperate embrace.

"Jazz?" The strategist asked, taken unaware and stumbling to regain his footing. He failed and fell backwards with his lover on top of him, both of them ending in a sprawled heap on the floor. "What's got into you all of a sudden?"

"Sorry." Jazz' voice was slightly muffled from where he was speaking straight into Prowl's left headlight. "Sorry. I'm just kinda upset by all this. I can't imagine sharin' a soul with someone as cold an' uncarin' as Starscream, an' to be forced into it..."

Prowl let an exhalation of air escape his vents, the noise made similar to a human sigh as he wrapped his arms around his shaken bondmate, holding the other mech tightly against his chest.

"I'm gonna kill that Primus-forsaken pit-spawn." The visored sub-commander said solemnly after a moment savouring the comfort that the closeness of his bondmate gave him.

"Will that solve anything?" Prowl asked calmly, resting his head back against the floor. Jazz shuffled up the Datsun-transformers body to fit his dark-helmeted head into the crook of the slender neck and Prowl absently brought his hand up to cherish his lover's pale cheek.

Jazz' slight noise of approval at the contact was lost in the metal of Prowl's collarbone-structure as he vocalised his reply.

"You heard Perceptor, he's a thinker not a killer. He doesn't want to kill anyone, even Starscream."

"That's not answering the question, love." Prowl pressed his finger over Jazz' mouth when the other sub-commander opened it to speak. "Never mind. It's not for us to take action. We're not in Perceptor's position."

Catching up Prowl's hand in his own, Jazz turned the white digits over as though trying to memorise every single join in the fingers he held.

"What would you do if you _were_ in Perceptor's position?" He asked quietly. Prowl's answer came without hesitation.

"I would kill the one who bonded himself to me and be free." There was no falter in the strategist's voice, which was cold and hard. Jazz knew better than to be repulsed, simply snuggling closer, an action which succeeded in melting Prowl's icy demeanour, the Datsun tenderly asking: "Why, what would you do?"

"I dunno, man." Came the Porsche-transformer's bleakly mumbled response. "I dunno."

Once again, an unwelcome silence enshrouded the two bondmates, weighing upon both of them heavily as each worked his way through his own thoughts. Disliking the mood that the topic was putting his lover in, and the metal floor insistently cold against his back and his car-door kibble, Prowl carefully and deftly manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, Jazz sliding down him unresisting to rest his visored head in his lap.

"We're best off doing as Perceptor wants and not thinking about it." The tactician advised quietly, looking down at the other mech and running his white hands over the black helmet in gentle caresses. Jazz was too kind; he always tended to get emotionally attached to things, and it burned him out mentally. In that respect, the two bondmates were polar opposites, Prowl preferring to remain distant from what happened around him while Jazz threw his whole self in head first without regard.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." The special operations officer moved his arms to wrap around Prowl's waist, causing a fleeting smile to cross the tactician's light face.

"Come on, you, you're cutting off the energon supply to my legs." He spoke teasingly, pushing gently on Jazz' shoulders to encourage the other robot to move off him so he could stand.

"Pff, go stick your head in a smelter, you useless lump." Jazz retorted playfully, rising to his feet and offering Prowl a hand, grunting as he helped pull the tactician upright. "Nngh, you're gettin' heavy, man."

"It's your fault." Prowl shot back, completely deadpan. Contrary to what many of the Autobots believed, he _did_ actually have a sense of humour.

"How th'slag is your weight problem my fault?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I can think up a reason. But it _is_ your fault, and therefore you need to be punished." Cracking a rare smile, the Datsun swept his Porsche into a quick kiss, feeling the flurry of anxiety rising from the other mech dissipating as soon as their lips met. It was just a brush of contact; Jazz' mood had improved instantly at the show of affection, and Prowl knew he had lost too much valuable time here already.

"You better get back to your plottin'" Jazz pointed out, feeling Prowl's concern in his spark. "Go on, I'm fine." He made a shooing motion with his black hands and Prowl shook his head in amusement.

"Call me if there's another problem. I'll see you later, love."

"Oh, stop _fussin_'." Jazz grumbled in mock-annoyance, waving once as Prowl left the lab and thinking to himself how lucky he was to be bonded to someone who truly loved him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 5**

There was a great battle coming. Today would be a day of fighting and little but. It hung in the air as some sort of ominous warning, it made the ground tremble with anticipation and even the sun seemed afraid to show itself, hiding behind a thick blanket of clouds.

Every Autobot could feel it deep within his substructure. A fight with the Decepticon forces had been inevitable since Perceptor had confirmed, only days ago, that they knew about the nuclear power plant, but every warrior worth his salt could feel, as though within his very core, that the time had come.

No one needed to say anything. As soon as word came from Wheeljack that Teletraan's skyspy had picked up signal of the Decepticons moving out, every warrior at the temporary base had instantly begun to prepare. Weapons were oiled, tested and equipped. Armour was shined and reinforced. Ratchet had his hands full running last-minute internal diagnostics for those who would be fighting, Perceptor helping him quietly as the only other robot at the temporary base with any sort of knowledge of medicine.

The microscope-transformer, for one, was glad of the distractions; anything to take his mind off the slow recovery from his ordeal, the memory of which had not yet removed itself from his quick-log recall banks. Even though the wounds on his exostructure had healed without trace of ever being there, he still suffered odd twinges in the realm of his shoulders sometimes. His stasis had not been restful since the interrogation, often disturbed when he awoke in the pod screaming and clawing with shivering fingers at the transparent covering, only to realise that it was his own berth and not Starscream's chest, and that he was alone and safe, not in the clutches of his enemies. Thankfully, at least, his fellows had stopped speaking in hushed voices when he was near, and he was able to look them in the face again, but he was very glad of the excuse to keep himself busy, as long as it meant that he and his over-active imagination were not left alone with a wayward thought pattern.

Logical-minded Prowl was hurriedly drawing up a battle plan.

"Did Teletraan say which warriors Megatron has with him?" The tactician asked Wheeljack's flickering image on the screen, distractedly scribbling Cybertronian runes on a datapad with a fragile stylus, Optimus Prime and his officers Jazz and Ironhide watching him grimly. Prime left his tactician to answer the questions; Prowl was by far the best and the quickest at analysis and determining the course of action that would most likely lead to success.

"Yeah," the engineer replied. There was a pause as he checked something that one of the humans – was that Sparkplug? - was showing him. "Uh... he's got all six of the jets with him, and Blitzwing, Soundwave, and a couple of Soundwave's cassettes."

"Is that all?" Ironhide asked in surprise, and Wheeljack nodded.

"Yeah. That's still a lot, though, be careful."

"He don't have any of th'combiners with him?"

"There was never any chance of Megatron bringing one of his gestalts with him on this venture." Prowl spoke in a steely calculating tone, his azure optics still fixed on the data pad. "He's not stupid."

"Hunh?" Was Ironhide's intelligent response. A rush of air escaped the tactician in a sigh as he shook his head.

"We're fighting right next to a nuclear power station which has had its potential modified to several times its usual output. Megatron is not stupid. Devastator, Menasor and Bruticus are all pretty slow and cumbersome, and not at all easy to control. The risk of a meltdown would be high if they were brought into the fight, and with the potential of this station, a meltdown would be enough to blow all of us sky high. Megatron is ruthless but not suicidal, and he's really thought this through. Look at his choice of warriors; they're all fliers bar Soundwave, and _he'll_ probably get the honour of holding Megatron's gun mode. They have speed, they have extremely good control, they have accuracy and they have aerial superiority. We're grounded and fighting at a severe disadvantage."

"What abou' Omega? Or the Aerialbots? Could we summon them in?"

"No, Omega is too big and the Aerialbots are too reckless. We're going to have to play this carefully and try to overwhelm them with numbers. Aim for their engines or their wings, try and ground them – they might be able to fly in robot form, but they're much slower -, and watch out for Blitzwing because he'll transform into his tank mode as soon as he can't fly."

"Shall I send Skyfire over?" Wheeljack asked, his image crackling on the screen. Prowl shook his head.

"Not to fight, he's too big as well. Send him over in case we need to ferry the severely injured back to the Ark for you and Hoist to patch up."

"Ratchet and Perceptor?" The engineer pointed out, the protrusions at either side of his helmet flashing neon blue as he tilted his head to the side inquisitively.

"They have limited resources here." Came the answer, accompanied by a shrug. "Ratchet will be inside repairing the more grievous injuries and Perceptor will be carrying out battleground repairs as best he can but they have finite amounts of the components they need. You're much better equipped."

"Fair enough, I'll get Hoist to stay on standby. What about the Dinobots? They could turn the tide for you, the Decepticons seem to have the upper hand at the moment."

"The Dinobots' brain functions are not yet quick enough to process probabilities and projection," Prowl commented sharply, "and they destroy without bias. That would be like lighting a fire in an oil refinery. It's asking for trouble."

"... yeah, I guess you're right." The engineer shrugged with one shoulder, sounding somewhat dejected that his Dinobots had been turned down. "Anythin' else?"

"No, thank you Wheeljack."

"Right on, I'm outta here."

As the video link disconnected and the screen flickered into blackness, Prowl turned his attention back to the data pad he held before pushing it to the side tersely.

"How long have we got?" Came Prime's question and Prowl turned to face his leader.

"Not long at all. Perhaps half a cycle, if that even."

"Not enough _time_..." the Autobot leader lamented quietly before glancing at the other two sub-commanders and addressing them in turn. "Ironhide, go and organise our forces, make sure they're all ready to move out as soon as possible. Jazz, inform Ratchet and Perceptor of their duties during this and help Perceptor move his emergency medical kit. Prowl, with me – we need a plan of action now."

"Right away, Prime!" Rang two obedient voices as the security officer and the saboteur both quickly left upon their business. The Datsun was silent was he watched them leave until his leader turned to face him and they began to outline their plan of defence together.

O

"There, I see them." The microscope adjusted his magnification a fraction, tilting the elevation of the lens to avoid catching the blinding glare from the sun. "Approaching from east-south-easterly direction, perhaps between forty and fifty miles from here still. Calculating velocity... slow, seven miles a minute, estimated time of arrival... seven minutes."

"Thanks Perceptor." Prime stated calmly as his scientist transformed back into a humanoid and stood to attention. The Autobot general turned to face the formidable army of troops who had accompanied him to the temporary base at the power plant, addressing them. "My friends, this fight will probably be fierce. They have speed and they control the air, but we outnumber them and what they have in firepower we make up for in talent! Fight as hard as you can for your honour as Autobots but be careful – there's a fine line between being a hero and being dead."

"You could do with remembering that sometimes." Ratchet grumbled to himself as he turned, going back inside the bunker to get his medical supplies prepared for tending to the wounded. Perceptor and Ironhide, who were both within earshot, suddenly ducked their heads out of their leader's view, their faces buried in their hands and their frames trembling as they tried vainly to stifle a fit of snickering at their scientific colleague's grouchiness.

"Do not throw your lives away." Prime finished off, pointedly ignoring his giggling subordinates as his azure optics roved once over the brave warriors stood before him. "Autobots – to your positions!"

It was a sudden flurry of limbs as the waiting robots scrambled to obey their leader, diving for cover to await the arrival of their hated foe. From his sheltered vantage point, which had been camouflaged to hide it from easy detection by airborne beings and was filled with various doctors' tools for hurriedly fixing battlefield wounds, Perceptor glanced out at the assembled forces.

Ironhide crouched behind a rock, tinkering absently with his laser blaster and flanked by the Lamborghini twins Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. A large boulder near them was in exactly the place that Hound had stood just moments before, and Prime himself crouched behind it, his weapon brought up at the ready. Brawn and Bluestreak had concealed themselves further back in the mouth of the bunker, and they were joined just a few moments later by Cliffjumper, and, nearer to his own hiding place, Jazz was loading Prowl's rifle with acid pellets while the tactician watched the skies closely. Mirage, of course, summoned from the Ark by Prime after realising how much more useful he would be fighting, had the best disguise of all.

And they waited.

The sky was ripped asunder as three metallic streaks shot overhead, Starscream at their lead, the sharp noise of lasers filling the air as the ground was suddenly torn up by the gunfire. Perceptor flinched further back behind his shelter as a fragment of hot rock shrapnel flew past his cheek.

"Here comes the second wave!" Someone shouted, but it was impossible to tell who as, moments later, the second trio of seekers swept over the Autobots' cover, the thrumming of the jet engines filling the sky like thunder.

"Return fire!" Prime ordered, springing from his vantage point to unload a barrage of orange-beamed laser fire at the retreating forms of the planes, ducking out of sight again as the first wave banked around to pass again. A lower, louder rumble ripped through the defenders' audio receptors as Blitzwing's bulkier jet form tore past, the triple-changer wheeling round to provide some back-up to Starscream's trio of seekers.

"Surrender or die, Autobot scum!" A gravelly, imperious voice called over the cacophony of battle as Megatron and Soundwave arrived within range, the latter accompanied by his flighted drones Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, both of whom joined the furore eagerly.

"Not until every last Autobot personality has been erased, Megatron." Prime riposted, levelling his huge ionic blaster at Megatron and firing once, twice, three times at his arch-rival.

In an impressive show of agility and finesse, Megatron dodged backwards, each of Prime's shots falling just short of reaching him. The Decepticon commander sneered and, but a moment later, had transformed himself into his powerful alternate mode, displacing the majority of his mass to shrink down to such a size that he would be operable by one of his warriors. Loyal Soundwave snatched his master from the air, firing haphazardly into the enemy cover.

Despite being outmanoeuvred at almost every turn by the Decepticons' superior aerial agility, the Autobots fought on bravely. Injuries were sustained, and Perceptor was kept busy repairing minor scrapes so that the warriors would be battle-ready as quick as they could be. Seeing that teamwork was of the essence, the Autobot tracker Hound lowered his hologram just long enough to be able to signal to the empty space where his sensors showed an invisible Mirage to be.

Skywarp saw the exposed Hound, grinning to himself in triumph, thinking that the Autobot had revealed himself by mistake, as he banked around and sped towards the helpless green soldier. He was almost too close to miss; it would be one more kill on his list, one more trophy of honour to add to his collection. Perhaps he should take a leaf out of Starscream's book and start carving trophies out of the pelvic gimbals of his vanquished foes.

"Surprise!" Skywarp was taken unaware at the triumphant voice that suddenly sounded disconcertingly close to his audio receptors. The black plane wheeled to the left in a desperate swerve to try and avoid Mirage, who had appeared from nowhere right in front of him and was firing his blaster. Too close and too fast to be dodged, one of the shots hit Skywarp straight in the wing in a terrible explosion, blowing over half of it straight off and sending him careening into the unforgiving earth. Far above, Thundercracker broke formation, turning away from assisting Starscream and Blitzing, who were cruelly targeting Brawn with teasing shots that hit closer to him each time, to help his fallen wing-mate, as though nothing, not even the Decepticon cause, was as important as making sure Skywarp would survive.

Seeing Brawn's plight, Sunstreaker dashed forwards past his brother Sideswipe (who was lazily taking pot-shots at the two condor drones circling about his head), shooting Starscream in the afterburner, causing him to lose control briefly, and it was only the air commander's aerial prowess that kept him narrowly avoiding a crash in a style similar to Skywarp. Smirking in an arrogant gloat, the narcissistic Lamborghini's attention was on taunting his fallen enemy, and he could not react in time when Blitzwing slammed to the floor just in front of him. The triple-changer turned fluidly into his tank mode and, with a single powerful shot, ripping a nasty gash in Sunstreaker's right side. Before the golden Autobot could comprehend what had happened, his red-painted twin had shot Blitzing's tracks, turning the abrasive triple-changer onto his side and buying enough time to drag the supine Autobot out of harm's way to the relative safety of Perceptor's hiding place.

"My paint..." The fallen warrior moaned half-heartedly. "My _beautiful _flawless paint, ruined..."

"If you have the energy to be worried about your paint, you aren't going to be dying any time soon." Perceptor informed him, an amused smirk playing about his lips, before he turned his attention to Sideswipe. "Too much for me to repair out here, take him in to Ratchet. Try not to jolt him about too much."

The scientist covered the twins long enough for Sunstreaker to be hauled safely into the bunker, before he turned his optics back to the terrible scene of battle unfolding before him.

Wounded robots, groaning and twitching, littered the ground. Most of them were Decepticons, whose sociopathic leader had not thought to bring a medic with them in their attack force, though every now and again, an Autobot would fall to his knees or be dragged away by one of his friends in a pitiful mess of scrap and smouldering parts. And, in the midst of it all, Prime was still trying to gun down Megatron, who had transformed back into his robot mode and had taken cover behind a huge, unmoving boulder.

From above, Starscream descended; with all three of his wingmates from their formation-bombing injured or tending to the injured, he had no reason to hold on to shreds of discipline, and Prime, who was so focussed on Megatron he was forgetting to defend himself, was a perfect target.

The seeker rammed the Autobot leader's chassis hard and then transformed into his humanoid form, locking into a deadly struggle with his hated foe, trying to get a clear shot with his arm-mounted null rays while desperately trying to keep Prime from firing his own weapon. As the smaller of the two, Starscream had the disadvantage, and Prime almost dragged him off his feet in a vicious turn. Recovering and scrabbling for better footing, he brought his blue fist around to slam into the red plating before him, trying to shatter the windscreen so that he might be able to probe inside the larger body and rip the vital circuitry out.

From his covered working place, Perceptor could see Starscream past Prime, but not enough to get a clear shot; he was too far away to guarantee accuracy and the two of them were moving around too much for any attempt, he was too likely to hit his heroic leader. From the corner of his optics, the scientist saw Megatron, a horrible grin of triumph twisting his thin face, raising up his fusion cannon at Prime. A flash of doubt ran through the Autobot medic's mind – Starscream was between Prime and Megatron, Megatron wouldn't shoot his own lieutenant... would he?

Perceptor realised too late that he _would._

In the dreadful moments that followed, it was as though his entire central processor was relaying signals in slow motion. He could hear himself yelling but could not make out the words he was saying, only just aware that he was running towards the two combatants though not knowing what he hoped to achieve. The path taken by the fusion beam burned itself into his optics, into his memory, as it passed through Starscream's back and into Prime's waist, and, at the moment of penetration, a sharp pain carved itself through Perceptor's chest, but he pushed it aside in his determination to reach his falling leader.

Starscream's optics widened in surprise and, for a moment, he gaped stupidly down at the hole through his midriff before sinking to his knees in a slow, terrible collapse, finally crumpling to the ground in an unmoving heap. Prime was slightly more fortunate, the majority of the blast's momentum having burned out passing through his opponent's body, and he was blown of his feet, landing on his back several metres away but still very much alive.

The battle ended amidst utter confusion. Perceptor was by his leader's side moments after the blast hit, and he was not alone; perhaps half of the remaining fighting force who had seen Prime go down had moved to cover him from further damage, and Ironhide, in a fit of quick thinking, shot Megatron straight in the flank while the latter was stood motionless in barely concealed glee at seeing the two big thorns in his side falling to the floor. With his guard down, the Decepticon commander-in-chief did not dodge in time and the beam ripped through his red-coloured rib plating, the circuitry beneath sparking an electric blue in complaint. Not one to loiter injured at a battlefield, especially with so many of his warriors wounded and useless without repairs, the Decepticon commander took the only strategic action he could. Besides, they had won! Prime had fallen, there was no point in risking losing any of his own soldiers when he could now pick the enemy off at his leisure.

"Decepticons! Pull back and regroup!" He called, taking to the air and surveying his troops limping away from the battlefield, those who could still fly supporting those who could not.

At the call for a retreat, Perceptor and Bluestreak gathered up Prime as their comrades watched the disappeared Decepticons warily, carrying him in to the safety of the bunker and hoping above all hope that his wound was not as bad as it looked to be.

O

"How are you feeling?" Perceptor asked in his soft voice, seeing Optimus' optics flashing a bright but confused blue. The Autobot leader made as though to sit up, but he was stopped by a firm hand upon his chest as Perceptor continued talking. "No, no, don't move, Ratchet's gone to speak with Skyfire. He's taking you back to the Ark, we don't have the facilities to repair you here. Frankly, it's a miracle you survived at all, it just missed your vital circuitry, one fraction to the right and you'd be one with the matrix right now."

Prime stared at his subordinate blankly for a while before the nervous relays from his stomach area twinged into action and a rush of pain overcame the numbness that had been seeping there prior. Gritting his teeth, all he could manage was an eloquent "... wha?"

There came the sound of a barely-stifled chuckle, despite the gravity of the situation. "Megatron shot you, don't you remember? The only reason you're still alive is because Starscream took the brunt of it. You went into emergency stasis while we were bringing you in, we've stopped the energon leaking but that's about all we can do here, I'm afraid."

The Autobot general allowed his scientist to push him back onto the makeshift operating table, staring up at the orange metal of the faraway ceiling almost unseeingly. His head hurt, and Perceptor's incessant babbling did little to ease that.

"... How long have I been offline?"

"Ehm, is your chronometer down? Hrm, I'll have to mention that to Ratchet. Hm. Hm? Oh, the time? You've been out for about... erm, three cycles? give or take a breem."

"That long!?" Prime brought his hand up to stroke his faceplate, half thoughtful and half near-despairing. "What about the Decepticons?" He asked at length, keeping his voice level. Perceptor shrugged in response.

"Ironhide shot Megatron while his back was turned and they called a retreat as soon as they saw you were down, Prowl says they'll be regrouping and licking their wounds. He said, er, to tell you 'not to worry and that he's got everything under control, and the best place for you to be right now is in the Ark recovering'."

If the injured leader could show expressions on his faceplate, he would have been smiling at the insolence of his sub-commander, who knew him far too well and had thought up counter-arguments to his protestations before he had even been conscious to make them.

"Very well, I see I have no choice in this."

"You most certainly do not!" A third voice grumbled and Prime craned his neck to see Ratchet walking grouchily towards him, giving a long-suffering sigh that was only half in jest. "I _told _you not to throw yourself in the way of any more gunshots and what do you do? You get yourself blown up. Again."

"Ratchet, it's not -" Perceptor began, but he was interrupted when the CMO held up a single red hand and spoke over him.

"Skyfire's ready to go, the sooner we get Prime loaded up, the sooner we can get over to the Ark and get him in the clear. He's not out of danger yet, by no means. You're staying here, right Perceptor?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." The medic transformed into his ambulance form, a metallic stretcher extending from the back doors. "Get him on, don't jostle him too much."

"Are you going back to the Ark with him?" Perceptor asked casually as he moved Prime from the table to the stretcher as gently as he could.

"Yes, you're fine with coping here until I get back, right?"

There was no reply for a moment as the scientist strained, his meagre strength failing under the weight of his larger leader. Perseverance and determination won out, however, and he managed to push the extended stretcher back into Ratchet without damaging the fallen general further. "Yes, I'm sure I'll manage."

"Great, we're going now. No sense in wasting time."

"Do I have any say in this at all?" Prime's rich, amused, if slightly faint voice emanated from somewhere within Ratchet's body as the medic rumbled slowly towards the entrance to the temporary base, Perceptor walking along with them.

"Not in the slightest." Was the medic's unhesitating response as he grouched and grumbled his way down the entrance corridor of the bunker. Both the Autobot leader and the soft-spoken scientist walking beside them laughed at the friendly bickering.

The blanket of clouds from earlier had cleared completely, and the waning sun caught the orange metal of Grapple's construct in a warm, golden hue, throwing odd shadows and illumination on the two doctors as they rolled towards the open Earth air. Skyfire was waiting in his Cybertronian shuttle form mere yards away, the boarding ramp already extended for Ratchet and Prime. His white chassis was tinged by the ochre hue and his burning red engines, chuntering away quietly in preparation for their flight, had turned a bright, eye-catching vermilion, gleaming like fire.

"Afternoon, Skyfire." Perceptor greeted his fellow scientist cheerfully, accompanying the hallo with a lazy wave.

The colossal rocket's turbines kicked up a notch faster in response before the amiable giant returned the greeting, his vocalisers wobbling a little at the disturbance caused when Ratchet drove up the ramp into the bowels of his storage compartment. "Afternoon Perceptor. Are you coming back too?"

"No, I'm needed here. I'm just here to see you off." One blue optic flashed briefly in a wink, a gesture that Perceptor had adopted after watching the flesh being Spike and his woman-component Carly. "Don't mind me."

"Haha, if you say so. Any others to go back?"

"No, just Optimus."

As Perceptor was speaking, Skyfire was retracting his ramp, the whirring from his engines being almost drowned out by the purring from his vents as they belched hot air from his systems.

"Oh, one more thing, Skyfire – tell Ratchet to check over Optimus' chronometer when he's carrying out repairs, I think it's stopped functioning."

"Right you are, Perceptor." Any further speech, if Skyfire spoke at all, was drowned out by the roar as the huge white jet's afterburners flared into life, sending the flying Autobot into the air at a supersonic speed, leaving nothing but the lingering smell of charred rubber and three skid marks on the tarmac from his undercarriage. The backrush of air was so great that it almost knocked Perceptor from his feet, the red and turquoise scientist stumbling backwards in an attempt to regain his balance.

The scientist watched his friend departing until the impressive bulk of the rocket-Transformer was just a distant speck in the air, silhouetted against the dimming sun. Feeling more relaxed and at ease than he had done for days, Perceptor decided to make the most of the reprieve he had been granted by strolling some distance away from the Autobot bunker. After all, he hadn't had time to himself for what seemed like vorns; there had been his capture, his rescue, preparing for battle, the battle itself, tending to Prime...

It was hard to believe that, just two cycles ago, this peaceful, silent desert hideaway had been a raging battlefield. If he had not been in the thick of that carnage, he would have sworn it had not happened; almost nothing had been disturbed. There was only the occasional spatter of dried energon across the sand or the odd score mark on a rock from where a laser beam had cut through it that betrayed the skirmish at all.

A glint of light from somewhere in his periphery caught Perceptor's attention and he looked around, stopping deadly still when he realised what he had just seen, not quite believing but knowing nonetheless that it was true.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note:** Just to clear up some ambiguities: I'm using IDW's time definitions in this, so a cycle is equal to 1 hour 15 minutes, a stellar cycle equal to 7.5 months and a mega-cycle is 93 hours. All others are standard.**  
**

* * *

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 6**

Catching the sun's light in a reflection of bright persimmon, dirtied by the desert sand into which it had been so cruelly discarded, was Starscream's corpse, lying exactly where he had fallen during the fighting. Neglected and partially trampled in the retreat that had been called not long after, the once-immaculate paint was smeared and scraped, reflecting the glimmering golden light from the sky in odd distortions.

It took Perceptor a moment to fully believe that he was seeing his hated enemy dead upon the floor. A strange feeling of emptiness coursed through him, inexplicably; certainly he should be feeling nothing but happiness that his unwanted bondmate was no more, yet he could not bring himself to find happiness in such a morbid fact – his beliefs were too pacifistic for him to find any joy in the termination of a living creature, war or no.

Yet... it was almost sad. Starscream had served the Decepticon cause perhaps more faithfully than any of the other warriors apart from possibly Megatron himself. The air commander, while never true to his superiors, had been the perfect embodiment of the Decepticon teachings. To have lain his life down in the service of his faction only to be abandoned so callously in death almost seemed... _unfair_ to the scientist, who had stopped still to stare at the lifeless heap of charred metal. Thinking about it, it seemed so likely now that those fits of anger and loneliness that Perceptor had been experiencing had been channelled from Starscream – if this was how the Decepticons treated their dead commander, the life among them couldn't have been warm or welcoming.

Without really meaning to, Perceptor found himself moving softly over to his unmoving enemy, entertaining a vague idea of at least arranging the body respectfully, even if he could not be laid to rest in the traditional Cybertronian fashion. It seemed so wrong to leave him to the ravages of Earth's atmosphere, so that his exostructure could eventually be eaten away by the eroding wind. How could his spark ever rest in peace if he was not properly honoured in death? Even if he had been a ruthless murderer of innocent Cybertronians, nobody deserved to rot unburied.

... Megatron's blast had done horrendous damage to the lithe seeker. A somewhat circular hole had been torn right through the middle of his body, shattering the golden canopy of his cockpit on exit; only a meagre few of the glass shards still clung limpidly on to the twisted metal. The area around the gaping wound had almost completely carbonised, grey ash still crumbling away even now, swept by the desert breeze. The dark face was barely recognisable; a mix of energon, oil and other lubricating fluids still oozed from internal ruptures, spilling from the parted lips, from the nose, from the darkened eyes staring sightlessly at the sky, even from the vents in the side of the helmet, mixing with grains of sand blown into the lifeless body by the wind and crusting on the soft, smooth metal.

Absorbed as he was staring down at the horrific extent of damage that Megatron's cannon could cause and silently thanking Primus that Starscream had been there to prevent Optimus being hit dead on, poor Perceptor almost had a coronary malfunction when the corpse groaned.

A shudder wracked the otherwise motionless robot on the floor, shaking him right down to his cobalt fingers as his grimy optics glowed a brief, weak scarlet. A faint moan emanated from his vocaliser, so breathless it almost wasn't there.

Perceptor overcame his shock quickly. Starscream was still alive – that much was a miracle, given the state he was in – and that he was conscious was even more so. From the looks of the seeker's strained face and tense limbs, it was more a case of his own stubbornness preventing him from going in to stasis, as his body was automatically trying to do. The Decepticon's strength of will was amazing, if that was the case. But that didn't change the fact that his renewed movement was only aggravating the already near-fatal wound through him; exposed circuits were firing into life again, sparking a dangerous and worrying blue, and a golden-brown slightly-spherical shape to the top of the wound looked sickeningly like it might be the underside of the spark chamber.

If he didn't get medical attention, and fast, Starscream was not long for the world. That was obvious; even now, there was a horrible rasping coming from his vents, reminiscent of a human death rattle.

There was no competition in Perceptor's central processor; without any hesitation, he knew what he needed to do. Even if he hated Starscream, even if he wanted nothing more than to be free of the mockery of a bond between them, he could not stand by and let another sentient being die passively, not if there was something he could do.

Gingerly, the scientist reached down and gathered the larger warrior up in his arms, cradling the injured robot to him, being careful not to disturb the horrible injury even more than it had been already as he turned around and began to walk as fast as he could back to the bunker. Almost as soon as he was lifted from the ground, Starscream's hand came around to grip Perceptor's shoulder in an instinctive attempt to steady himself, though he had no strength to really hold on. The vermilion optics flared angrily as the seeker brought his battered face up to stare accusingly at his rescuer.

"... sla'spawn, I'll k-, I'll kill you..." Had Perceptor not been able to see the disabled Starscream speaking, seen the grime-encrusted lips moving, he would have sworn that the sound he heard could not have come from air commander's vocaliser. The hoarse, choked croaking bore no resemblance at all to the usual rasping screech – the sound was not even what one would expect to come from a Transformer at all. Uncertain at the threat and not knowing what response he should give, he settled to believe that the seeker was delirious, hallucinating in his critical state, and he decided that the best thing to do would be to offer words of comfort, hoping that the tone would calm the injured mech even if the words themselves were not understood.

"Don't worry, you're safe now." The Autobot crooned, not looking at Starscream's face, well aware of the grim irony that enveloped the situation of his speaking so soothingly to his forced bondmate.

"How d-dare... leave m'behin'... Meg-Megatron..." Convulsively, the seeker tensed as a shudder tore through his broken frame, a gasp falling from his mouth as his optics flickered. A wracking cough took ahold of him as the barely-healed scar over his pharyngeal energon vein ripped open afresh. Vaporising lilac liquid sprayed from his mouth as he kept trying to speak. "Y-y'came back... f'me... kill y'f'leavin' me..."

Chancing a glimpse down at the stubborn Decepticon, Perceptor wondered how to get him to stop talking as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He was already travelling slower than he would like, if only because Starscream was larger than him and he was not the strongest of Autobots as it was; carrying the seeker, even with half his body missing, was proving more difficult than anticipated. And Starscream _needed_ to shut up – his speaking was putting unnecessary strain on the cables in his throat, which in turn were laying stress on the few remaining chest wire-joins that had escaped being disintegrated by the fusion beam.

Starscream whimpered in painful protest, his feeble grip on the sangria shoulder tightening as Perceptor caught his foot on a protruding rock, stumbling forwards and jostling his burden despite his best attempts to keep him still. The scientist's spark wrenched, an ache settling in the vicinity of his chest as he stared at the once-proud, aloof seeker and tried to comprehend the pitiable fate that had befallen him in the space of half a day. No one – no, not even _Starscream_ deserved _this_...

"Sorry – sorry..." He whispered, doubting that the dying seeker (because he _was_ dying, he had almost lost too much energon to make a full recovery now) was even aware that he was not Megatron, let alone able to hear the words he said.

Shifting the jet in his arms a little, Perceptor furtively glanced this way and that as he neared the opening of the tunnel into the bunker, his processor holding a faint inkling that an enemy soldier, even one so grievously ill as Starscream, would not be welcomed by the other Autobots. All he needed to do was to get the other robot into his research lab, where none of his comrades ventured without his permission, without being seen.

"Yo Perceptor!" The scientist suppressed a flinch that was half apprehensive and half irritated. Of course, when he _wanted_ to be alone, there was no end of Autobots coming to see him, was there? "What's that y'got there?"

It was Jazz.

Well, it could have been worse. Jazz was liberal minded and there was a chance that he would understand. It could very well have been another. It could very well have been _Brawn_, and that would have been a sure recipe for accusations of treachery. Then again, Brawn didn't speak to Perceptor much if he could help it – their relationship was rocky at best.

"Oh... um, hello Jazz." The scientist tried to keep his voice cheerful, turning his body away from the approaching saboteur somewhat guiltily. From his arms, Starscream suddenly screeched in agony as one of the crumbling edges of his wound brushed against Perceptor's chest.

"What the -?" Jazz started in shock at the terrible howl, peering curiously over Perceptor's shoulder. Because of the bulk and heaviness of his burden, the soft-spoken scientist could not easily hide it, and Jazz' mouth fell open as he realised what the mess of dirty metal was. "Is that... is that _Starscream_?"

Unable to deny it now that his friend had seen clearly, Perceptor nodded miserably. He opened his mouth to offer an explanation, and Jazz' mouth opened again, presumably to ask for one, but before either of them could speak, the scientist accidentally disturbed his injured patient again, causing the seeker to let out another animalistic shriek before dissolving into a bout of almost incoherently sobbed pleading.

"Pl-no, no, st-stop, I'll... I won' do't again, m'sorry, I'll obey y', I promise, don', don' hurt me...!"

The Autobot sub-commander was staring at the shivering, delirious Decepticon with an expression of fascinated horror plastered across his visored face, and Perceptor could well understand why – the unexpected insight into the way Megatron treated his troops was an eye-opener indeed. Small wonder that most of them seemed to obey him out of fear rather than any notion of loyalty, though, truth-be-told, Starscream was a sight more insubordinate than his comrades; his punishments were probably that much more severe.

Apparently managing to find his voice again once Starscream's whining died down to a faint whimpering, Jazz finally choked the question out. "What th'slag's goin' on?"

"Well," Perceptor began, fumbling with his words as he indicated that Jazz should walk with him; they had wasted too much time already, and getting Starscream medical treatment was an urgent priority, "I found him when I went out walking, I couldn't very well leave him to die." A brief pause. "I'm going to repair him."

"Y'_what_?" Was the disbelieving response. "But _Starscream_ – he's a Decepticon! The enemy!"

"So he should be killed in battle like any warrior, not left to suffer without honour." Despite the fact that Starscream probably wouldn't recognise, much less understand the concept of 'honour' even if it dressed up like a drunken human and shot him up the exhaust with a rivet gun.

"... enh, no one would think less o' you if you just left 'im..."

"_I_ would think less of me if I did that." Thankfully, there were no other Autobots creeping up on him to say 'hello' between the entrance to the bunker and his research laboratory. Hurrying in, he lay the rasping Decepticon on the very same operating table that Optimus Prime had lain on not half an hour before. Jazz followed, watching silently. "Yes, I know what he's done to me – believe me, I want to be free of it as soon as I possibly can – but if I left him to die passively, when it was within my power to help him, then that would make me a hypocrite. I can't do that."

The visored saboteur leaned against the wall casually, watching Starscream's optics dim as Perceptor began the meticulous, painstaking operation of easing off the burned ends of the exposed circuits to redirect the energy flow to other, uninjured parts of the seeker's body so that the damaged parts could be safely reconnected with no risk of shorting.

"Y'know, you're kinder than me, that's f'sure." He said after a while, tilting his head as one of the jagged shards of golden glass that had once made up Starscream's canopy, disturbed by Perceptor's working, finally fell from the cracked exostructure and slid from the air commander's chassis to smash to pieces on the floor. "... d'you want me to help?"

The microscope-transformer looked up at Jazz and smiled briefly before shifting into his alternate mode to closer examine the connection he was working on, welding a gash in the metal back together before starting on the circuit itself. "It's all right. I think we made it just in time."

For a while, there was silence as the doctor worked on his patient, who had thankfully allowed himself to finally fall into stasis. Then Jazz spoke again, his voice darker and more serious than it had been.

"What are y'gonna do with him when he's all up an' about again?" When there was no response from Perceptor, the Porsche-transformer carried on. "Did y'give it a thought when you brought him in?"

"No, I didn't." Admitted the medic quietly.

"You... you _didn't_? What, did y'just think he'd love you an' swear undyin' devotion to you for savin' his life? He's _Starscream_, a _Decepticon_ for Primus' sake, they don' _do_ gratitude!"

"I... I didn't think at all." Was the calm, if somewhat shaky response to the incredulous question. "He was... I thought he was dead, it would have been so much easier if he _had_ been, but when I went up to him... well, he was _conscious_. He was conscious when I went over to him and he was conscious when I brought him in, and you heard him screaming, he could still feel it – some part of his subconscious was overriding his systems numbing or going into stasis for whatever reason. He could feel it all. _No one_ deserves to die that slowly, Jazz, not in that much pain. Not even Starscream, I had to do _something_... even if all I end up doing is euthanising him, at least he won't be suffering."

Jazz stared down at the sleeping Starscream before he shook his head, a smile creeping over his face again as he decided to just let it lie for now.

"Ha, you're really too nice f'this war, Perceptor." He said at last, and the scientist relaxed in the realisation that he wasn't going to be disciplined by his superior.

Perceptor said nothing as he carefully soldered the rewired internal pump he had been working on in place with the super-accurate lens of his microscope. That should stop the bleeding and the repeated rupturing of the arterioles in the seeker's neck, at least. Once that pinpoint task was completed, he turned back into his humanoid self and smiled at Jazz. "Thanks... I think. Hmm, would you do me a favour?"

"Sure?"

"I would appreciate it if you didn't let anyone else know that I'm fixing him." A jerk of the head to indicate the motionless Decepticon on the table.

"...Enh, whatever man. I'm down with that, except that Prowl's gonna learn about it."

"...Yes, that's fair enough. That way he can have something planned in case this all goes horribly wrong and Starscream does something that will make me regret rescuing him." Which is probably very likely, Perceptor added silently, sadly studying his unconscious bondmate.

"Well, that an' he would find out anyway." Jazz pointed out, an odd smile hovering about his lips. It took Perceptor a moment, but when he realised what was being hinted at, he slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Of course! You two are bonded! Forgive me, it quite slipped my mind in all the excitement." That made Jazz' insistence about telling Prowl make a lot more sense; after all, they kept no secrets from each other, and Prowl was sure to find out anyway whenever they next bonded. It would be kinder for both of them if Prowl were to learn from Jazz' own mouth rather than to have his lover keep things from him. And, of course, Prowl would know what to do once Starscream was fixed up. "Uh, will he be all right with me having one of the enemy in here?"

"I doubt it," Jazz answered cheerfully; both of them knew how... well, _serious_ Prowl could be, "but he's not gonna be a Red Alert about it. He'll prob'ly understand eventually, what with it bein' _you_ an' all..."

The trailed-off sentence hung uncompleted in the air between them, Jazz falling silent, content to watch as Perceptor tied off the secondary terminal he had been working on. The energon flow from Starscream's facial orifices had almost completely stopped now, which was a huge relief – if he had lost much more, he probably would never have woken from his stasis.

"Enh, I reckon I'll off an' tell Prowl now, thinkin' about it." The sub-commander piped up at last, tilting his visored head back at ease. "An' y'could prob'ly use the peace an' quiet to concentrate on ol' Screamy there."

"Yes, thank you Jazz, you're a true friend." It was quite a miracle that Perceptor was even able to form the words; his glossa was poking out of the side of his mouth in concentration as he took a laser scalpel to cut away a chunk of rock that had embedded in Starscream's internal thermoregulation unit.

"Later, man." With a lazy wave, the saboteur left the small laboratory, closing the door behind him. He stopped still outside the room for a moment, leaning against the wall and staring at the ceiling, vents thrumming quietly as he let out an exhalation of what could almost be called exasperation.

If he was honest with himself, Jazz was not really happy with having Starscream in the bunker, and not only because he was a member of the enemy faction and therefore not to be trusted. Unlike Perceptor, who seemed to have pushed away the bond between them to focus on saving the seeker's life, Jazz could not bring himself to forget the terrible taboo that existed between the two them, the nightmare that Starscream had inflicted on his scientist friend. While Perceptor might be able to ignore it for the greater good, Jazz could not forget the worry he felt for all of his comrades, and the hatred that had been born in his spark when Perceptor had admitted just how the Decepticons had tortured him.

But, he knew, it would be kinder to allow Perceptor to deal with this how _he_ wanted, as Prowl had advised, rather than trying to take justice into his own hands.

Shaking his head at the mess of it all, Jazz set off silently to find his bondmate, firstly to explain about the new arrival in Autobot territory, but also because he really felt he needed a comforting touch.

O

Amazingly, Starscream had not died yet. There had been a few touch-and-go moments in the intense, nerve-wracking hours that had passed since operating on the seeker began, especially while Perceptor was extracting bits of desert rock from his most delicate systems – the exposure to the dry wind had moved much sand into the open wound – but, ultimately, Starscream had displayed quite a strong, stubborn will to survive, clinging to life grimly if unconsciously.

Having run out of on-hand materials, and with Starscream's condition now stable as the seeker slept off his loss of energon, Perceptor had left his laboratory to retrieve another set of components he needed to fix his patient – making sure, of course, that the door was locked securely behind him. While he had not the resources to fully repair the Decepticon here at the bunker, he could do enough to get him firmly out of harm's way. From then, it would be for others to decide what to do with him; whether to keep him as a hostage, interrogate him for information or simply release him back to his faction. The scientist had already decided not to tell any of the Autobots (except for Jazz and Prowl, of course) about his 'prisoner' until Starscream was functional again.

Feeling rather pleased with himself that he had managed to save the life of someone who had seemed to be already past saving, Perceptor paused in front of his lab with an armful of spare parts, his mind blissfully clear as he shifted his load to punch in the combination on the lock. Tilting forwards to catch a spherical object that was making a bid for freedom from his grasp on the mechanical components, he gave the door a soft kick, causing it to slide open obediently.

Something grey and red and large collided with him as he took a step forwards, knocking him back over the threshold and scattering his armful over the floor. Out of instinct rather than any planned response, he brought his leg up to kick his assailant from him, and was rewarded with a shriek and the figure being thrown back into the lab. Picking himself up and shaking his head to clear his optics, Perceptor brought his focus round to look at the transformer who had attacked him.

Starscream was on all fours on the floor, one arm clutching his middle as his vents whined in complaint at the excess of air being forced through them. His lips were parted in a silent cry, energon dripping from them to dribble down his chin, his optics wide and staring blankly at the metal ground; it didn't take Perceptor's genius to figure out that the scientist's defensive kick had caught him straight in the healing wound.

"What on Cybertron are you doing!?" The Autobot asked sternly, gathering his dropped load as his patient recovered his wits. The door was closed and locked again. "You stupid _fool_."

"No Au-Autobot is going to keep _me_ prisoner!" The Decepticon air commander rasped, staggering upright determinedly but falling weakly to his knees almost instantly. Perceptor shook his head in disbelief and weary exasperation as he set his metal components on one of the side desks.

"You're an idiot and you're going to kill yourself if you keep overexerting yourself. You were shot through, you shouldn't even be _alive_, let alone _conscious_." Reprimanding his wayward patient, the stand-in medic hauled the unresisting Decepticon back onto the table, glowering when the air commander cringed away from him. While not usually one to lose his temper, the closeness to his reluctant bondmate, which brought unwelcome memories of dark cells and darker deeds, was putting him on edge anyway, and the seeker's lack of compliance only aggravated him further. "Oh, _stop it_. Trust me, I hate being here with _you_ as much as you hate me."

While he was speaking, Perceptor had opened a panel of the light grey plating of Starscream's thigh, selecting two or three wires and cutting them from their respective terminals. As soon as the Decepticon noticed this, he snarled in complaint. "What the slag are you doing!?"

"I'm disconnecting the neural transmission to your legs so you don't pull another stupid stunt like the one you just tried." Perceptor answered snippishly, and, sure enough, when Starscream attempted to move his legs, he found that he could not. An enraged screech escaped the seeker's vocaliser when he verified this and he lunged his torso forward at Perceptor, grabbing wildly at the microscope-transformer who merely stepped back smartly, rebuffing his patient with a firm, impatient smack. "_Honestly_, Starscream. The sooner you stop acting like a moron, the sooner I'll have you fixed and then we'll never have to lay eyes on each other again."

The air commander seethed, sulking silently and not bothering to grace Perceptor with an answer. Irritation at the hostile patient he was dealing with, who had not even thought to thank him for saving his life – and when they were bondmates, no less!, filled the microscope-transformer, but, unbidden, as if trying to prove something that he had not asked to be proven, the memory of the obscene loneliness and fearful anger that had plagued him for the days since his escape from the Decepticon headquarters came filtering into his recall centres, and his spark softened.

He was convinced that the feeling had not been his own, that he had been channelling his bondmate's strongest emotions. Was Starscream _really_ so isolated in his own faction? Perceptor thought back to when their positions had been reversed, with him as the helpless prisoner and Starscream as the tormentor – perhaps the only thing that had kept him coping was the hope that his friends would rescue him. Did Starscream have that hope now, or had he already resigned himself to being left here?

At least Starscream seemed to have calmed a little, and, though he was glaring with utter loathing at the work surface to his left, he was at least allowing, if reluctantly and only because he could no longer move to make another escape attempt, Perceptor to work on the hole in his middle. The Autobot scientist pushed aside his thoughts, which were a confusing antithesis of burning dislike and sympathetic pity, as he took up his forceps and his scalpel and resumed his work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 7**

For his earlier violent outburst, Starscream was remarkably subdued after his legs were disconnected, leaving Perceptor to continue work on him in peace. Rather remarkably, he was conscious despite the operation and the tampering that was an inevitable part of his reparation. Once again, the microscope-transformer suspected that it was more a case of Starscream's own stubborn refusal, or perhaps a subconscious reluctance, to pass into stasis when his body was clearly telling him that would be the sane thing to do.

Amazed at the strength of will from the air commander, who seemed to be such an arrogant opportunist coward in most situations, Perceptor found that, obsessed with knowledge as he was, he was wondering what could have caused such an aversion to sleep as that which his patient was displaying. In fact, Perceptor had time to think about many things now that his fixtures didn't need as much pinpoint accuracy as they had earlier, and now that Starscream was being so obedient.

He wondered not only at Starscream's determination to remain awake, but also at what could possibly keep the jet in the Decepticon ranks when _this_ was his reward. He wondered at himself for even being in the same room as his torturer. He wondered at the lack of anything but the odd twinge through the bond, for he had been expecting it to be all the more unbearable for the closeness between its bindees.

The seeker's displeasure at his submissive, dependant position was betrayed only by the occasional twitch, the slight shudder through his chassis, but, for the most part, his body was relatively relaxed considering that he was having unanaesthetised open surgery carried out on his fuselage. In stark contrast to this unexpected docile display and astoundingly high tolerance of pain, which defied his persistant begging whenever it looked like Megatron was about to beat the slag out of him, his grey face wore a dark expression that was, perversely, both taut in concentration and so, so distant.

It was such a confliction of signals that the Autobot paused several times in his working to attempt to figure out what Starscream was _doing_. His curiosity piqued as it was, he almost considered probing at the bond between them before he remembered that to do so would be to acknowledge and even accept it, and he had no wish to admit that the hated link between him and this cold, ruthless warrior existed.

In fact, Perceptor had an inkling of what was going through the seeker's processor, if only because he had been through the same ordeal just over an Earth week prior. The glazed look over red optics, as though Starscream was focussed somewhere far, far away, twinned with the antithesis of expressions on his face led the scientist to the conclusion that the Decepticon was building up his defences in a morbid expectation of torture, just as Perceptor himself had done when it had been him in this position. The difference, though, was that, while torture as a prisoner of Megatron was almost a certainty, that Starscream would be interrogated in such a brutal way was very unlikely indeed. It was simply not an Autobot thing to do.

After a lengthy silence, there was an odd sound, a sort of grating squeal; it took Perceptor a moment to realise that it was Starscream grinding his teeth. Just as he was about to admonish the seeker for the sound that was causing his audio receptors to tingle in complaint, the latter spoke in a tense, strained voice.

"Just get it over with, you insufferable weakling."

Far too taken aback at the content of the sentence to think of retorting at the insult, Perceptor ran several different options over in his processor – but each one turned up a blank, and he could not for the life of him work out what Starscream was talking about. "Um... Get _what_ over with?"

Starscream gave him a derisive, withering look, indicating his foul temper. Though he was trying to be subtle about it, it did not escape Perceptor's notice that the cobalt hands were gripping the side of the operating table, trembling almost imperceptibly. The seeker was terrified, and still trying to be an assertive bully – trying to make himself bigger than life, like the felines of Earth puffed their fur out when threatened. How strange, he had usually resorted to desperate pleas for mercy when Perceptor had seen him in situations like this.

When the air commander snapped his answer, his voice was taut with nerves. "Fool of an Autobot, stop playing games with me! It's obvious you're going to use that – that _thing_ between us in reverse, so hurry up and get it the frag over with!" The shuddering of his blue hands against the metal of the berth increased, chiming faintly with each impact now, as the Decepticon's voice lowered and he began to mutter rebelliously to himself. "Stupid slagspawned _frag_ that Megatron is, making me do such a _stupid_ thing, it's his own damn fault, never woulda been caught out like this if _I_ ruled..."

As Starscream was speaking, Perceptor was aware of his own expression displaying more and more disgust, outraged not only at the thought of renewing that horrible bond – it had been a nightmare for _him_, and it probably hadn't been too enjoyable for Starscream either, from the way he was reacting to the thought of repeating it – but also at the fact that Starscream truly thought the Autobots would find it acceptable to use such a sickening means of interrogation.

"How_dare_ you suggest that we – that _I –_ would do such a thing!" The scientist flared, his azure optics flashing in affront. "We Autobots have _morals_, we would _never_ use an act of devotion so callously, how dare you even assume that just because you Decepticons have no notion of right and wrong it means that everyone is just as, as _twisted_ as you! You – _you make me sick_!"

Finished with his tirade, Perceptor stared angrily at his recovering prisoner. The air commander's optics had dimmed from a bright scarlet to a burning crimson, his grip on the sides of the table had loosened and his hands were no longer trembling quite to the degree they had been. A smile that seemed half mocking and half relieved crossed the dark face, and some reign of control had been regained over the high-pitched voice when he breathed shakily: "H-ha... you Autobots, with your weak ethics and your sappy beliefs... too useless to take an opportunity when it comes, that's why you'll lose this war in the end."

Perversely, Starscream's assurance that the Autobots' kindness would lead to their downfall calmed Perceptor instead of provoking him even further; he had been expecting this much, at least, from the arrogant robot in his custody.

"No, you're wrong." He answered softly, resuming his work on Starscream's wound. "We have what you don't. We know how to love, and that is the greatest gift of all."

"Sentimental drivel!"

"It is good to be an Autobot. We are never _alone_ because we know how to care for each other." The scientist insisted firmly, chancing a sly sideways glance at the Decepticon, whose eyes had slanted almost sulkily. No response came – had his words hit too close to home for any snarkiness? - Perceptor attempted to brush it aside, working in silence.

The silence dragged on, increasing in its awkwardness. The realisation that what he had been dreading would not come to pass a welcome boon in his otherwise hopeless-seeming situation, Starscream had relaxed considerably, which made Perceptor's job a lot easier, meaning that the scientist had concentration to spare. Normally, he would be happily chatting away to anything, be it his patient or the components he was fixing, or sometimes even the tools he was working with, but Starscream set him on edge, and he was not comfortable with talking to the aloof seeker, perhaps unsurprisingly considering their history.

However, the urge to speak at all overwhelmed his uncertainty, and besides – his curiosity was aroused by the conclusion he had reached about the rogue emotions that had flooded through his processor so many times in the past week.

"Starscream..." The meek Autobot murmured, almost nervously, trying not to let his hesitation show and failing most miserably, waiting for a grunt of acknowledgement from his patient before continuing with his quiet question. "Were you... _lonely _among the Decepticons?"

An expression of what could only be described as disbelief crossed the grey face before any answer came. "Wh – no! Of course I wasn't! What a ridiculous thing to suggest, as if any Decepticon can trust anyone but himself! Stop trying to analyse me with your inane Autobot programming! I am not a weakling like _you_!"

Perceptor did not press the point, but he did not for an instant believe any of Starscream's answer, which had been vehement and altogether too quick to be entirely truthful. More likely, the Decepticon was still trying to appear tough and fearsome – that in itself was almost amusing, considering the number of times that Perceptor had seen Starscream living up to his namesake by loudly whimpering and whining to Megatron for mercy, as cowardly as they came if he thought his life was in danger.

The microscope-transformer adjusted his lens, squinting through it at the extreme magnification as he soldered across a blocked linkage before slotting a transistor into place carefully. Under the close scrutiny, Starscream shifted uncomfortably, distaste crossing his noble, aristocratic face.

"Get a move on, will you? Cut it out!" He roughly demanded of his doctor, who looked up in some surprise and mild indignation.

"I'm working as best I can, you ingrate, so shut up and let me do this or I'll disconnect your vocaliser." Was snapped back, Perceptor adopting Ratchet's amazingly effective bedside manner, if only because Starscream was grating at his nerves. "The more you distract me, the longer it will take, and, believe me, I don't really want to be stuck here with you longer than necessary."

Ah, there was another chunk of desert stone stuck in the grey metal of the fuselage. That would probably be a problem if it was left to fester. Shaking his head at his own oversight, Perceptor brought down a cutting device specially designed for accurately rending metal; three concentrated laser beams that rotated at speed to create a deathly powerful circular implement. As he lowered this towards the stricken metal, Starscream's optics widened and shut off abruptly but briefly.

The seeker sat bolt upright, almost impaling himself on the surgical device as he struggled to pry it from Perceptor's hands or knock it to the floor; the shocked scientist loosened his hold on his tool, and it went skittering away across the orange ground, sparking whenever the cutting edge hit the reinforced alloy of the panels of Grapple's structure.

For a while, Starscream just sat there, staring at nothing with wide optics, lips parted in apparent horror, arms limp over his unresponsive legs, the vents on his chest whirring as they worked to cool overheating systems. The Autobot scientist bent to retrieve his appliance, switching it off and turning back to face his anguished patient as the spinning laser blades slowed.

"What," he queried calmly, after a moment, "was _that_ about?"

"... Don't _do_ that..." Came the squeaky antiphon, Starscream laying back slowly after running his hands down his legs once, as though to check that they were still there.

"I know that _now_," Perceptor sighed to himself in exacerbation; he had expected the air commander to be a pain to deal with, but had not thought him to be quite so... contrary, "but what on Earth happened?"

The whirring of the chest vents returned to their normal dull thrumming, Starscream shutting off his optics before giving his response in a disturbingly dreamy tone. "Nothing on Earth, no. Do you remember when our Space Bridge malfunctioned and we were sent to that planet with those giant green monsters?"

"Yes," Perceptor acknowledged, wracking his recall centres and bringing up the memory – the indigenous natives of the planet they had ended up on had had a particularly murderous streak when it came to researching new life forms.

Suddenly everything started to make sense.

"Well,_you _were lucky." The Decepticon snorted in surfeit. "_You_ got away without bein' poked about by their moronic scientists."

He left it at that, but Perceptor understood; he had, after all, been in a transparent containment cell with the other Autobots, watching the processes that the huge green species had been carrying out on the luckless Decepticons, all of whom had been pinned supine by their ankles and wrists – rather like Starscream's current predicament, thinking about it – and examined closely. Starscream himself had nearly been dissected alive; the huge researcher had brought his circular scalpel down with an almost sadistic slowness towards the restrained robot's chest.

Seeing the similar circular device, even though it was so much smaller, moving towards his unprotected middle must have thrown Starscream unpleasantly back into that situation of about to be cut to pieces. No wonder he had panicked.

It seemed that the air commander was really not as tough and heartless and _unaffected _as he wanted everyone to think. The Autobot could not imagine having to pretend to be strong; he was suddenly thankful that he had such friends among his faction, people around whom he could be himself without pretending to something better.

"Don't look at me like that!" Starscream growled, and Perceptor was shaken rudely from his reverie; he had been lost in his own thoughts, and they must have displayed on his facial components as he looked at the seeker. "I don't need your pity!"

Knowing better than to argue, Perceptor rolled his shoulders in a shrug and re-focussed the lens on his microscope, resuming his work and hoping that Starscream would not have any more panic attacks, if only because it would slow them down and keep them together for longer.

O

"Well, that's all I can do here, I'm afraid." The microscope-transformer stepped back, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed his handiwork. "It's not perfect, but it'll keep you going."

"It sure took you long enough." The seeker snorted, without a word of thanks.

Bristling at the lack of gratitude and feeling rather used, though he should have expected as much in retrospect, dealing with a Decepticon as he was, Perceptor turned away abruptly, his voice cold and distant. "It would have been over a lot _quicker_ if you had gone into stasis or not moved about so much, it's your own fault really."

When the only response to that accusation was a sulky, grudging grunt, the scientist let his optics dim, laying one dark grey hand on the gamboge wall, faced with a new and more pressing problem now that the seeker was out of any immediate danger. What was he going to _do_ with the Decepticon now he was fixed? As far as he knew, the only Autobots aware of Starscream's presence within the bunker were himself, Jazz and Prowl. Perhaps he could ask Jazz or Prowl what to do? Yes, that would work, Prowl would think of something. He was good that way.

"So now what!?" The air commander snapped peevishly, voicing the question running through the scientist's mind, pushing himself into a sitting position with some difficulty, as Perceptor had not yet reconnected the neural transmitters to his legs. "Are you going to let me go now that you've finished pratting around with my circuits?"

"Of course not." Though he had prepared himself for this, Perceptor, being the gentle soul he was, could not help but feel a little guilty – but, he reminded himself, this was _Starscream_, who had ruthlessly tormented him... "I don't want a Decepticon loose in here."

"Then let me back to my own people!"

"You'd just attack us again." Was the listless counter. Surely fixing one of the enemy, pulling him back from the brink of death, only to have him shoot at the other faithful warriors in your faction counted as some sort of treason?

Starscream did not take this denial well.

"What the slag was the point of saving me if you're just going to keep me locked up in here until I corrode!?" He demanded, his grating voice a high-pitched whine. "You can't do that to _me_!"

His whinging continued in this manner, escalating in pitch and volume until Perceptor could barely hear his own central processes, let alone slip a word in edgeways. Not for the first time, he seriously began to regret saving the abrasive seeker's life.

"Stop it!" The meek scientist barked at last. "Shut up, _please_, for the love of Primus! Or do you want me to take you out in to the desert and dump you for dead? Like _you_ did to _me_?"

"Ha!" Starscream pouted childishly, glaring with his fiery optics, the very depths of rebelliousness and defiance in them, at his saviour. "That's because you were stupid and naive! Fool Autobot, it's your own fault, you deserved everything we did to you! The way you provoked Megatron, it's almost as if you _wanted_ to have a forced bond! HA! Maybe you _did_! Maybe that's the only way you fool Autobot reject could get bonded at_all_ -!"

His words were cut off when, in a fit of uncharacteristic violence, Perceptor struck the dark grey cheek of his patient in a fierce backhand, azure optics smouldering in rage and contempt, unable to believe that Starscream had the nerve to mock him for his bravery, and especially when he had been trying so hard to forget that the mech he was fixing was his reluctant bondmate. The grey head snapped to the side at the impact, and a cobalt hand was raised slowly to the abused metal as Perceptor stared down in fury.

"H-How dare you..." He managed, his normally-docile voice warped with icy indignation, teeth clenched in the fierce injustice. "After everything I've done for you...! I hope you're satisfied!"

"Oh yes," Starscream sneered airily, malevolence glinting in his cruel eyes, "nothing makes me happier than hurting an Autobot!"

And he threw his head back and laughed.

A new wave of emotion assaulted Perceptor's enraged spark, through what the scientist believed was the feeble remains of the weak connection between himself and the seeker. Quite contrarily to what the Decepticon was saying, however, it was far from happiness or joy, or even amusement; the nearest way to describe it would to call it... resignation. The stark contrast almost made the scientist question his captive, wondering whether Starscream regretted initiating the bond, but still he burned in the ire that Starscream's taunting had unearthed within him, and it was not quick to let go of his soul. Besides, such a question would only provoke Starscream to taunt him further, and he could do without those sneers and those jibes when he was in such a towering rage.

Ha, and the very thought that a Decepticon could feel for another creature was ridiculous anyway, Starscream had demonstrated that well enough, selfish egotistical megalomaniac that he was. No doubt he was just resigning himself to the fact that Perceptor was not going to be setting him free any time soon.

Static crackling reached the microscope-transformer's audio receptors and he had the presence of mind to shove Starscream from the table hurriedly, ignoring the muffled complaint as the crippled seeker hit the floor with a 'clang', just in time as the communications screen flickered on, showing Wheeljack's face peering expectantly at the camera.

"... Perceptor? Hey, is this thing workin'?" The jovial engineer tapped his side of the link with one finger, and the reverberations it caused in Perceptor's laboratory made the scientist's head pound as he moved to stand squarely in front of the Decepticon lying on the floor, blocking him from view of the communication screen.

"_Yes_, Wheeljack, it's working!" He pressed his hands over the dark vents either side of his helmet, as though it would stop the rhythmic thudding. "It's working! _Very well_! It is working _extremely_ well, please stop hitting it!"

The masked Autobot laughed cheerily, his audio protuberances flashing neon blue with each sound. "Haha, sorry Perceptor, Teletraan's had a problem and we've only just managed to debug it."

"Right." A nod as the microscope stared at the maniac on the screen wearily, fully expecting to be called back to the Ark to fix up the results of some terrible catastrophic explosion. ... That was a _little_ unfair on Wheeljack, after all, only a few of his inventions ended with _catastrophic_ explosions... Gah, chalk the jibes down to his current ill humour. "What's up?"

"Well, I was just wonderin' if there's anythin' you need a delivery of? Prime's all fixed up, an' he's comin' back out to you in Skyfire," there was an odd noise from Starscream on the floor, but thankfully Wheeljack seemed not to hear, "we can load anythin' up if you need it."

"Oh... no thank you, I think I'm all right." He could have left it there, but he was still smarting from Starscream's earlier baiting, causing him to be more than a little short-tempered than usual with his eccentric colleague. So he continued snippishly. "Couldn't you just have asked Ratchet what he wanted to bring back with him?"

"Ratchet? Oh, he's not comin' back with the others." Wheeljack answered lightly, either not noticing or, more likely, carefully ignoring Perceptor's taut tone.

"What!? Whyever not?"

"There was trouble over in Portland, some human female, uhh..." The engineer appeared to be checking some sort of note in his hands, "... uh, caught pregnancy while Ratchet was on patrol, he's been stuck over trying to cure her."

A quiet yet nigh uncontrollable snickering came from the Decepticon on the floor, but Perceptor ignored it, his concern for the unknown human radiating in droves. "Pregnancy? Is that fatal?" The snickering increased in volume. He considered kicking Starscream to shut him up, but, remarkably, Wheeljack hadn't noticed yet, busy as he was rubbing his head with his hand.

"Enh, Ratchet wasn' exactly definite about it over the comm, but I think he can handle it. Well, jus' wanted to let you know that, and I gotta go, lots of work t'do, unless there's anything else?"

"No, thank you Wheeljack. See you later some time."

The connection shut off, leaving Perceptor standing stoically in the room with Starscream dissolving into paroxysms of mirth on the floor, laughing loud and freely now that there was no fear of his being discovered by any of the other Autobots.

"And what," asked Perceptor snarkily, heatedly, "is so funny? Is a human's suffering really such a joke to you?"

It took a moment for Starscream to regain control over his vocal processor and actually formulate a response, and, in that moment, Perceptor realised that there was no real malevolence in the laughter; it truly was clear and almost innocent – except that nothing any Decepticon did would _ever _be innocent.

Running a cobalt hand over his dark face, the jet finally managed to modulate: "Ohhh... you _fools_, how long have you been on this planet? And you're still ignorant!"

Perceptor riled, but realised quickly that Starscream was not being malicious. The seeker was fumbling with his own body, trying to push himself back up onto the table and failing quite spectacularly, as, the scientist remembered guiltily as he moved forward to help, his legs had still not been reconnected. The Autobot had quite forgotten.

"You're an idiot." The air commander stated, matter-of-factly, as he was sat back upon the table. Tremors of cachinnation still shook his fuselage. "Pregnancy isn't a _disease_, it's how the flesh-creatures create new units. The male models implant premature components within the females and the new unit creates itself within some sort of organic construction chamber. Just over a stellar cycle later, the new unit emerges from the female, complete but diminutive."

"Wh – that's absolutely _fascinating_..." The astounded scientist tilted his head to the side, interested despite himself; his main weakness was that of learning, and this truly was a discovery indeed! "I admit, I haven't had time to study human biology yet..." A disturbing suspicion took ahold of him suddenly. "Why do _you_ know all this? Surely Megatron doesn't lay much priority on research of this planet's species?"

The seeker gave an elegant one-shouldered shrug, the expression on his face morphing from his humour back to lassitude. "I was a scientist and an explorer, before the war. I specialised in alien metallurgy and biology, whichever was relevant for the species I was studying at the time."

It was only when Starscream glared at him uncomfortably a klik later that Perceptor realised he had been staring in astonishment at the seeker. He couldn't help it; it had never once crossed his mind that any of the Decepticons had ever been anything but soldiers, and to hear that _Starscream_, who had a reputation for being one of the cruellest and most loathed of the enemy, had been a scientist – just like _he_ was... it was mind-numbing.

In retrospect, it had been a stupid assumption; he had had a life before the war as well, had he not? It was only logical that the other faction had been peaceful beings too... once...

But something about the jet's reasoning was still off, and Perceptor put his finger on it within the next nanoklik.

"But," he pointed out, "our war started over nine million Earth years ago – more in, fact! - surely the humans had not _evolved_ so long ago, if what I have studied about natural selection in species is true?"

"They hadn't." Was the toneless answer. "I've carried out dissections since being here."

"You... you _what_!?" The microscope demanded, horrified.

The Decepticon snorted in disgust, turning himself away from the other robot. "Oh, get over it, I killed them first. Most of the time."

"But – sentient life!"

"Perhaps it escaped your notice," Growled Starscream irritably, "but _I_ am at _war_ with the little fraggers."

And, while that was the truth, Perceptor still could not really bring himself to come to terms with the calm admission of homicidal activities Starscream was admitting to in the tone of one describing normal everyday procedures.

Before he could protest further, Starscream had suddenly and unexpectedly leapt to his feet, knocking Perceptor back and flinging the door to the laboratory open, disappearing out of it at an impressive speed. Getting hastily over his initial surprise, Perceptor cursed himself for not watching the seeker when he was on the floor – who would have thought he would have been able to reconnect his legs? - as he gave chase. And, as he ran, some part of his mind praised Starscream's intellect; not just any Transformer would have been able to accurately reconnect each wire to the correct terminal. The majority would have ended up shorting themselves.

In all honesty, he was torn; while it was obvious that Starscream was pining for freedom and flight, the Autobot was reluctant to turn his imprisoned enemy loose, feeling sure that it would count as some sort of treachery after he painstakingly repaired him. But the chance that he would catch up with the fleeing seeker was looking depressingly slim now; Starscream had transformed, and his afterburners glowed hot amber as he rocketed towards the entrance tunnel.

As for the air commander himself, he was elated. He was _finally_ rid of that stupid Autobot, he was fixed, he was_ free_, he was -

- about to crash into that wall unless he pulled up _pull up pull up slag it._

What followed was an impressive display of aerial acrobatics, proving beyond a doubt why Starscream was known as the best flier among the Decepticon fleet, as he pulled up, somersaulting in the air, banking left to dodge sideways through a door that was almost too small for his wingspan and only narrowly missing another of the Autobot warriors before transforming mid-air into his humanoid form and trying to regain some measure of control over his speed. It was simply too cramped in here to try and manoeuvre in jet mode.

The entrance was in sight, at least, and he had the element of surprise and a good headstart over the Autobot warriors; they would never catch him now, surely...

Something very big and very metal and very _non-moving _loomed in front of the escaping Decepticon's optics, and, before he could stop running or turn, he felt himself restrained by hugely strong arms as the imposing figure of Optimus Prime swept him into a vice-grip.

"Get _off _of me!" Starscream screeched, writhing vainly, unable to break free.

"A Decepticon spy?" Prime asked in mild but perpetually calm surprise as the warriors who had been giving chase finally caught up. "That's odd. I would have thought Megatron would use one of Soundwave's cassettes, rather than someone as unsubtle as _you_, Starscream."

Seeing himself severely outnumbered and outgunned, Starscream instantly dropped his tough-Decepticon act, staring up at Prime imploringly; if Prime had not known of his presence, then Perceptor must have been keeping him_illegally_... "I'm not a spy! I was kept prisoner by that scientist of yours – Perceptor!"

All optics turned on to the meek scientist, who had just come running through the door, vents chuntering and making a noise similar to that of a human undergoing strenuous physical activity. Ever the opportunist, Starscream took quick advantage of the momentary diversion, wresting himself from Prime's grasp, transforming and disappearing into the blue beyond of the vast American sky.

"Leave him." Prime commanded as his faithful warriors started to pursue the seeker. "We stand no chance of catching up with him now." He turned his full attention back to the most scientific mind among his army. "Was he telling the truth, Perceptor?"

"Only partially, Optimus," Perceptor forced his voice to stay strong, feeling the accusatory eyes of his colleagues on him. Only two pairs of optics watched him without any thread of suspicion; Jazz and Prowl, of course, who both knew the story. "He was very badly injured in that fight, Megatron shot him through. I couldn't very well leave him to die passively, I – I'm a thinker, not a killer - so I brought him in for repairs, but I... I underestimated his resourcefulness, forgive me."

The Autobot leader gave his subordinate a scrutinising look that went on for several astroseconds past the comfort zone, no readable expression displayed on his faceplate.

Then his cerulean optics softened and he spoke reassuringly. "You did the right thing, no Autobot should watch another suffer. He should end suffering in whichever way is kindest. However," He added sternly, "I would prefer it, Perceptor, if you had told me you were keeping a potentially very dangerous mech right under our olfactory sensors."

Perceptor looked at the ground, suitably chastened as Optimus glared at his remaining warriors to silence any rebellious muttering.

"I'm sorry, Optimus."

O

Perhaps fifteen minutes after his flight from the Autobot bunker, hindered as he was by his canopy (which was still disintegrating and impairing his vision, as Perceptor had not had the necessary material to repair it) and his radar, fragged by Megatron's blast and not repaired because of lack of components, Starscream finally arrived above the crashed Decepticon starship at the bottom of the ocean far below, radioing Soundwave and demanding the docking tower to be raised for him instantly.

He did not expect much of a welcoming reception, knowing, though not caring, that he was not well-liked among the robots of his own faction, and he _certainly_ didn't expect to see Megatron standing there to greet him as he flew in to the docking bay, what seemed to be mild surprise on the gun-transformer's face.

Seeing his hated leader only succeeded in bringing his indignation and sense of injustice bubbling to the surface and, no sooner had he transformed, he had furiously started to berate Megatron before the silver commander could say anything.

"How dare you shoot me! _Me_!" The air commander erupted in his master's face, even going so far as to poke the white robot in the chest viciously with an azure finger to punctuate the words. "How dare you leave _me_ behind to die!"

Megatron pushed his insubordinate lieutenant away disdainfully with one hand, commenting coldly: "You should feel _honoured_, Starscream, that you were instrumental in Prime's death."

"Death? HA!" Sneer. "You couldn't even _kill _him properly, you failure! He's as alive as I am!"

"What!?" The commander-in-chief snarled, a black hand closing around his officer's throat as though it would make what he was hearing wrong. "How can you be sure!?"

"B-because I ran st-raight into his chassis," Starscream choked, clawing at Megatron's unrelenting vice-grip on his neck, "as I was escaping being tortured by the Autobot Perceptor... get _off_..." The grip tightened as Megatron digested this terrible news, and Starscream whimpered, scrabbling even more desperately, his confidence rapidly draining away. "P-_please_..."

The Decepticon general dropped his wayward lieutenant in a crumpled heap, positively fuming at the news that his arch-nemesis was still functional. There was something else in his subordinate's statement that was nagging at his processors incessantly... something small and easily overlooked, but something that could be manipulated and molded and _used_... And then, as if out of a haze of troublesome processes, a most intriguing idea took hold of him.

"Perceptor?" He questioned, wanting to verify he had heard right, and Starscream nodded. "He's the one I had you bond, isn't he?" Another nod, this one slightly more jerky and accompanied by a most ugly expression on the dark face. "Well well well. How very _interesting_."

Starscream could not help the full-body shiver that ran through his exostructure as his leader looked him over once, a worrying smirk playing at those flawless white lips.

"Come closer, Starscream." The voice was conspiratorially low, and the air commander could not help but obey, as a puppet whose strings are being pulled, "I have a job for you..."


	8. Chapter 8

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 8**

The news came within an Earth day and a half after Starscream had made good his flight from the bunker; the humans, tampering without Perceptor's help, had inadvertently caused a non-catastrophic meltdown in the nuclear reactor. Thankfully, no life had been lost, and the rapid response had contained the isotopes, meaning that the resulting radiation poisoning of the land would be minimal.

It did, however, mean that the power plant was no longer to open soon; in fact, production had been set back by at least a decade, perhaps more. The courier sent with this information apologised profusely to Perceptor for the delay and the waste of his time that the disaster had caused and was then on his way.

While in many ways an extreme disappointment, the news of the postponement of energy generation meant that the power plant was now useless to the Decepticons, and that news was a welcome relief, for it meant that the Autobots warriors stationed in their temporary base of operations could finally return to the safety and comfort of the crashed Ark at Mount St. Hilary.

This could not have come sooner for Prime, who had been worrying at the lack of enemy activity since Megatron 'deactivated' him. Prowl had suggested that they had been pooling their resources for a final, deadly strike while the Autobots were without their leader, and the relief that the heroic general felt when, out of the corner of one optic, he caught sight of a familiar red condor disappearing to the east had been immeasurable; Megatron would have the news that the plant was useless soon enough and would call off any heavy strike he had planned.

Back to square one. Wasn't that always the case?

Ahh, the Ark. It was good to be back, Perceptor thought as he looked around his own quarters appraisingly. Good to be back in the familiar laboratory, with all the research specimens meticulously labelled and organised alphabetically and according to mass and properties, good to be back among all his friends rather than just those chosen to accompany Prime on the defence mission, good to be back _home_.

He had been so happy just to be back that he had spent several kliks just running his hands over the handles of all his tools, just absorbing that he was still alive to see them again, marvelling that he could be so thankful over something so small. It felt as though everything should have changed, but, thankfully, everything was just as he had left it. Such a relief.

Almost immediately, the scientist busied himself with one of his many specimens, selecting a flourishing sample of Earth's indigenous flora and logging its progress since he had last checked it over.

There was a wonderful sense of frivolity encasing this whole process, he thought cheerfully to himself as he asked one of his specimen's variegated leaves just _why_ it was different colours (though it didn't answer him). The fact that, for the first time in Earth weeks, he was finally allowed to research for his _own_ interest rather than for any greater cause, and the feeling of weightlessness that this encompassed was... exquisite. This must be what flying felt like.

His plant specimen was absolutely fascinating. While certainly very pleasing to his optics, the flowering end of the organic matter was almost overpoweringly foul to his olfactory sensors, it was almost unbelievable that there were creatures attracted to that sort of repulsive funk. Why was it needed? It had something to do with the reproduction of the species, he thought.

And, just as he had not wanted them to, his thoughts followed this train and drifted back to Starscream and his lecture on human reproduction.

... Who would have thought that Starscream was an intellectual? He seemed to do everything in his power to disassociate himself from that sort of image, whether it was ripping Autobots limb from limb or stabbing his own people in the back to sate his own ambition.

Perceptor shook his head. "Mustn't think of that ingrate," he told the flower wisely, "you'll only depress yourself."

Hmm, thinking about it, this specimen did not look healthy. Considering the length of time that he had been keeping it within the confines of the Ark – a time still uncertain, as he still had no real idea how long he had been a prisoner of the Decepticons – Perceptor came to the rapid conclusion that it was dying, and that returning it to Earth's habitat should cure that.

Gathering up the tiny flora in his dark hands, Perceptor checked his other carefully organised specimens, frowning to himself in disappointment when he realised that most of them were in a similar state to the one he held.

Shaking his head again, deciding that he would deal with that problem after he had placed this plant back outside the Ark, he quickly made his way from his laboratory through the control bridge towards the entrance tunnel, passing several other mechs as he went and greeting them all light-heartedly.

As he entered the bridge, he glanced over to Teletraan-1, seeing three figures there; Prowl and Red Alert, with Wheeljack leaning over them, were concentrating on developing some new security updates for Teletraan's 'SkySpy' system, and they had been for the last couple of Earth days. It was an agreed recommendation between the two of the security officers that, after the failure to protect Perceptor because the Decepticon ambush had not been anticipated, SkySpy needed to be updated to be more efficient. Wheeljack saw Perceptor as he passed and lifted a hand in greeting; Perceptor smiled and nodded.

Primus, it was good to have everything back to normal.

The dry desert air hit his chassis and eddied about his vents as he stepped from the Ark to the sandy base of Mount St. Hilary. Tilting his head down at the wilting flower, he carefully put it on the floor next to a rock and stood there watching it, half-expecting it to suddenly flourish and bloom into life again. When it did not, he was almost frustrated; organic life was so _confusing_.

Sighing to himself at the lost cause, the microscope turned and retreated back into the Ark, stopping in the bridge to watch the progress of the three Autobots in front of Teletraan.

"How's it going, Wheeljack?" He asked quietly, seeing how tense Prowl's shoulders were and not wanting to cause unnecessary trouble.

"Eh? Oh, not bad, not bad, I think we've pretty much got it operational." The engineer answered as he ducked out of sight to fiddle with some of the wiring behind one of the near-mahogany panels of the supercomputer's tower. "Just a test run left, I reckon."

"Will it work with the existing SkySpy satellites or will we need to launch new ones?" Prowl asked, inclining his head in greeting but otherwise ignoring Perceptor.

Wheeljack's head popped up again; he looked positively overjoyed with himself as he spoke. "Ah, the upgrade should affect all airborne satellites immediately, and, hopefully, should be connected to Red's security processor so that if there any immediate threats, he'll know straight away."

"Good." Prowl nodded as the other security officer turned to study Teletraan's screen.

"Wheeljack, what is this?" The paranoid Autobot asked, pointing at a blip on the screen which was erratically moving within a small area.

The masked engineer peered up at the small pinpoint, rapidly tapping in commands to Teletraan as he did, before suddenly punching the air in triumph. "Ha_ha_! I_ knew_ I could get it working! And not a glitch in sight, brilliant!"

"That's all very well and good," Prowl commented testily, "but what _is_ it?"

"That," Wheeljack pointed proudly at the recurring blip on the screen, "is SkySpy picking up Decepticon activity in the south-sou'-west quadrant about twelve hics from here in a relatively circular radius."

For one glorious semiklik, there was a tense silence.

"What!?" Red expostulated, jabbing the flashing dot with one finger worriedly. "Why didn't you tell us sooner? This could be serious!"

"Can we get a visual?" Cutting across his excitable colleague, Prowl leapt straight to the point, voice as calm and detached as ever it was, as Wheeljack tapped frantically away at the keyboard.

"_Frag..._" The engineer muttered to himself, shaking his head. "The camera isn't connected, there's no way we can get the image up. SkySpy's got the co-ordinates fine, but we have no visual."

Prowl rose decisively. "I'll go and scout it. Red, tell Prime what's happening. I'll be in touch so keep your radios transmitting."

"Wait, Prowl," Red Alert grabbed his superior's shoulder, halting him, "you can't go alone, it's too dangerous! You need backup!"

"No time to _organise_ it, this is urgent!"

"I'll go." Perceptor's offer surprised even himself; he was not the type to volunteer for reconnaissance work. However, he felt that he still owed Prowl a favour for all that the Datsun-transformer had done for him. As the optics of the other three robots turned to stare at him, he shrugged uncomfortably.

"Your alternate mode is not very mobile." Prowl pointed out calmly, the least ruffled by the scientist's abrupt offer.

"I have the best zoom varifocus of all of us." Perceptor countered. "Which means I'll be able to see from further away, so we won't have to get as close and you'll be less likely to be discovered."

There was what seemed to be a unanimous shrug, Prowl grasping Perceptor by the wrist and tugging him towards the entrance of the Ark. "We don't have time to discuss this, we have to get out there now. Stand by, Red, Wheeljack."

The security officer beckoned Perceptor to transform, picking up the minuscule microscope when the process was complete and depositing it on the front seat, just behind his steering wheel, as he, too, transformed into his Earth alternate mode.

For a while they were silent as they travelled, Prowl setting off his sirens as soon as he was on a public roadway so that the humans would get out of his way and he would not have to worry so much about the speed limit. Perceptor was content to adjust the angle of his lens and watch the American countryside fly by, to watch all the little fleshlings in their mechanical suits driving along...

"What's this about, eh, Perceptor?" The Datsun asked, as disconcertingly analytically accurate as ever as he gauged that Perceptor had an ulterior motive.

"Eh... heh." Chuckling nervously, the red microscope tried to keep his voice light. "Y'saw right through me... I guess I just wanted to thank you, you know, for being there for me and all, and not telling anyone about Starscream even if you didn't like it."

Prowl's engine rumbled. "Mmm, Jazz told me your reason for fixing that slagspawned reprobate. I admit... it does not satisfy my logic centres."

The image of Prowl's logic centres fritzing over trying to work out Perceptor's rationale behind fixing the slagged enemy was almost amusing. "Yes, well, I don't know if I was thinking right when I decided to do it."

"Sometimes," said the security officer, "the best decisions are made without thinking. Or, at least, that's what Jazz tells me. Personally, I think he needs his circuits checked over."

It took a moment for Perceptor to realise that Prowl was joking; there was no change at all in the tactician's tone.

"So," He said desperately, a little awkwardly after attempting a half-chuckle, "G-glad everything is going good with Jazz... eh, heh.. um."

"Well, yes." The strategist responded, his tone a little off, probably because of Perceptor's abrupt change of subject. "It's refreshing to have somebody challenge my opinion on certain situations, even if his logic board _is_ dysfunctional. Right, keep your optic sensors online, we're nearing the co-ordinates that Teletraan is forwarding."

Shifting to a more comfortable position up against the window, Perceptor increased the magnification in his lens and scanned the surrounding countryside where Prowl directed him to, seeing, for the most part, nothing out of the ordinary.

"See anything?" Prowl asked, switching off his sirens as he left the public roadway to enter a patch of woodland, weaving amongst the trees.

"No..."

A low grumble escaped the tactician's engine as he radioed the Ark, requesting confirmation from Red Alert that the signal was indeed at the coordinates they were currently at, and whether it was still there. The answer being affirmative in both cases, he sighed. "We're in the right place. Should be around here somewhere."

"Wait – wait, back up for me for a moment." A glimpse of red, violent red among the trees... it couldn't be...

"You see something?"

"Yes, yes, I think -" Tried to get a better focus but there were too many trees in the way. "Move us in closer, Prowl."

As the foliage cleared from his vision, Perceptor squinted with his lens, catching a glare from the sun and wincing as it dazzled him. Lowering the angle of his projection to avoid this, he reported to his superior.

"Just one Decepticon, Prowl. It... oh, oh my, it's Starscream! ... What on _Earth_ is he doing!? Agh, closer Prowl..."

"I can't move in closer," the tactician stated in calm monotone, "the underbrush is too thick, we'll have to transform and walk."

Carefully shunting Perceptor from the seat out of the door, the Datsun transformed into his humanoid form, followed swiftly by his smaller scientist friend. Glancing about them, Perceptor indicated for quiet and beckoned for his superior to follow, though subtlety in a densely overgrown forest did not come naturally to creatures as large and cumbersome as the two mechanical warriors, and, no matter how hard they tried, branches snapped underfoot and leaves crunched, conspiring to give them away.

It was remarkable that Starscream did not hear his two stalkers approaching, but then, they were still quite far off, and he was distracted with his own problems. As the nearing Autobots realised, while they settled themselves into a comfortable spying point behind a large conifer cluster, he was muttering disjointedly to himself, clutching his left arm to him tightly and staggering about in vague circles, looking rather confused and disoriented.

"... kill him, I will, I _will_, I'll rip off his cannon and shove it straight up his recharge port_ with his arm still attached to it_...!"

"What is he doing?" Perceptor whispered to Prowl as Starscream turned away from them again, cursing at a tree trunk in rapid Cybertronian before bending down to, surprisingly calmly, tell a rock that he hated his life.

Prowl shook his head, vents chuntering perhaps louder than they ought as his logic board began to overheat. The illogical, irrational activity displayed by the Decepticon before them confounded him as he tried to understand, and he gave the only conclusion he could: "He's lost it."

"And then," Starscream said conversationally to the rock, "I will poke his optics out, oh yes, _slag it why does __he have it in for Starscream? _And then I'll make him _eat_ them..." He regarded the motionless stone coolly for a moment and then kicked it in a sudden fit of temper, wheeling around again.

This time, his turn revealed his left side to the hidden Autobots, and they saw clearly why he was protecting his arm, shielding it from view and clutching it to him; the limb had been shot almost completely off at the shoulder, and it was dangling pathetically by two or three cables and a shred of charred metal, sparking bright blue. The symptoms were obvious for Perceptor, even from as far as he was: near circular scoring, the distinctive way the lips of the wound crumbled to ash around Starscream's protective fingers, the clean cut of the severed wires...

That was damage from a fusion beam.

As he realised this, and as he realised just who had probably caused this damage, Perceptor took in a large intake of air in a gasp, vents kicking up, unable to understand why anyone would willingly follow a leader who periodically beat the slag out of his troops and even shot at them.

Starscream spun around at the noise, seeing the distinctive eye-catching bright red of Perceptor's chassis amongst the green of the bushes. His blazing scarlet optics narrowed as he brought his good arm up to point in an accusatory way at the intrusion on his privacy. Oddly enough, Perceptor noticed in a split second, both of his null ray guns were missing.

"You!" The air commander snapped, apparently recognising who had been spying on him. _"You_!" Oil flew from his mouth as he shrieked in rage. "This is your fault!_ This is all your fault, you-!"_

Seeing their cover was blown, Prowl stood fluidly, bringing his weapon around to point squarely before Starscream's optics. The Decepticon ignored this, or perhaps he simply didn't notice, still screaming at Perceptor.

"Look!" He gestured his injured arm wildly. "Look what he did to me! _It's because of you that he did this to me! _All because you fixed me, _he tried to kill me_! He thinks I'm a traitor, shot me, _exiled _me! You – you Pit-spawned -!"

The strength of emotion from the raging seeker almost overpowered Perceptor through the shreds of their bond, but he squashed it before it could grip ahold of him and claim him, fighting to keep his mind clear above the all-consuming red clouds of rage that threatened to quash him.

"You scum." Prowl was saying calmly, utterly unruffled, forcing the hysterical Starscream back at gunpoint. "I should just put you out of your misery."

The red and white mech backed up, torn somewhere between his fear of death and his irrational anger and desire to enact his revenge.

"Perceptor," Prowl called over his shoulder to the scientist emerging from the foliage, menacing the Decepticon air commander, "radio Prime, let him know it's all clear here. Just a little glitch to take care of." He turned back to Starscream, baring his teeth. "I'm not going to kill you, _wretch_, that would be too easy for a criminal of _your_ notoriety."

Communicator halfway to his lips, Perceptor paused and looked Starscream over; he could feel the seeker's rage subsiding, and the grey face was morphing slowly from berserker to haggard resignation. The scientist, while knowing he should not, could not help but feel somewhat guilty. If what Starscream had said, and his fixing the enemy had lead to this, it might have been kinder to let him die...

Amends could still be made, right?

Not that Starscream _deserved _it, but...

Well, if it made _him _feel better...

"Wait, Prowl," Perceptor called, halting the strategist's hateful but quiet tirade, "I feel... Let me at least repair that damage to his arm."

The tactician was frozen in place; for a moment, Perceptor thought that his request had blown his superior's logic circuits completely. A thrill of uncertainty raced through the microscope's chassis; he shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't offer to fix an enemy, to fix _Starscream._

But... not only was that feeling of guilt nagging at his core, but a fear had crept up on him; he remembered the shock of pain that had torn through his chest when Starscream had been shot through before. He had thought it was worry for Prime, but, analysing it later, he realised that it was to do with his bondmate. They were connected, reluctant as it was, and if having Starscream _injured_ hurt him physically, what would having him _dead_ do...?

And, somehow, the knowledge that it was wrong made it even more appealing.

But should he -?_ Again_? What if Prowl started to suspect him of treachery?

But Starscream wasn't a Decepticon any more, he'd been thrown out...

But he was still an abrasive fragger, there was no point in fixing him, there would be no thanks, there would just be the closeness between them forcing them both to remember a bond that was best forgotten...

But...

"I can't let you do that, Perceptor." Prowl was answering, jabbing the contemptuous Decepticon with the tip of his gun barrel, and Perceptor shook himself from his dilemma to actually listen.

The meek scientist moved to join his friend next to the glaring Starscream, trying to keep the expression on his honest face unreadable. "... _please_, Prowl."

A spark ran from the top of one of the corners of Prowl's red chevron, leaving a thin trail of smoke as it merged to blend in to the metal of his helmet, the Autobot sub-commander relaxing his gun arm a little as he spectacularly failed to analyse Perceptor's illogical request.

It was rare for Prowl to hesitate or to show that he was confused, especially in the presence of one of the enemy, but this was certainly one of those times. "...Ennngh, I shall speak with Prime." A jerk of the head to indicate Starscream. "Cover him."

Perceptor raised a hand to adjust the projection of the microscope lens light-cannon on his shoulder, pointing it at Starscream, who growled in a mixture of defiance and ache as he convulsively clutched his useless arm tighter. Besides them, Prowl established a communication link with the Autobot general.

It was a very tense conversation; Perceptor still did not know whether or not he was making the right decision, and he was of half a mind to stand down and tell Prowl to do as he wished with Starscream.

Then he looked at the air commander, who seemed so strangely helpless and feeble without his inbuilt weaponry attached to him, and he wondered why the arm-mounted cannons had been removed. A calculated cruelty, perhaps... what sort of leader left his soldiers injured and defenceless...

_No, don't think like that, don't forget that Starscream is a monster too..._

"Perceptor," it was Prowl, "it's an affirmative. Prime is of your mindset in this, I am outvoted." Volumes were spoken in what Prowl _didn't_ say; his disapproval was almost tangibly thick, hanging in the air between them. It was visible in the way he conducted himself; the stiffness of his posture, the disdain on his face as he stared at Starscream (who didn't look too happy with this development either), the twitch of his gun hand as though it itched.

And was it relief or apprehension that Perceptor felt assault him in waves?

O

Compared to the last injury of Starscream's that Perceptor had repaired, the damage to the arm was minimal, and could be fixed up without much hassle. The reconnection of the motor relay wires had been simple, and now all that was left was to resolder the grey plating.

Starscream sat sullenly on the operating table, watching as Perceptor took the hot iron to his healing injury. He had not looked away for the whole process, had not said a word and had not uttered a sound.

Perceptor, too, had been uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of the situation that stilled their vocalisers. The Autobot scientist, for one, knew that he was still not quite comfortable with speaking to the seeker. It was still hard to convince himself that he would not be hit for insolence if he spoke.

However, as he fixed the last replacement plating in place and allowed the air commander's automatic repair systems to start on the scar, he smiled and stepped back. "There, finished."

A heavy silence descended as Starscream inspected his arm and then turned his scarlet stare back onto his bondmate.

"You... are surprisingly efficient." He stated, his voice low, and Perceptor shrugged uncomfortably. That was probably as close to a compliment as he would get from the seeker, best to be gracious and accept it.

As though the scientist was no longer there, Starscream turned around, letting his optics rove over the small lab, over the ordered specimens in their jars. Most of them were wilting, Perceptor noticed again, as he followed Starscream's line of sight with his own azure eyes.

"What is this slag?" The air commander demanded, authority leaking back into his voice, the tone one of someone who expects to be obeyed. He waved his newly repaired arm at the lined jars to indicate them, turning back to face Perceptor.

"Oh..." The scientist suddenly felt fidgety, playing with his own fingers. "That... they are my research specimens. I learn things from them."

Luckily, Starscream seemed too distracted by the jars to notice Perceptor's embarrassment. Again there was a silence. Then... so quietly... "What sort of things...?"

As though he was interested, but ashamed to be.

The microscope-transformer stared in pleased surprise. There were not many among the Autobots who cared for his overly-complicated explanations, or who did not metaphorically 'roll their eyes', as the humans would say, when he brought in something new he had found on Earth. To have someone as warlike as Starscream show an interest was... unexpected but not entirely unpleasant.

Something jolted inside him. He ignored it. This was _not _wrong.

"I thought you did your own research." He said rather coldly, trying to hide what he was interpreting as weaknesses, these antitheses in his spark...

"I dissect humans." Starscream corrected, just as snide. "I find that they scream more satisfyingly than the green brainless beings."

It was but an empty jibe, Perceptor could feel no malevolence from the seeker as he had last time he had been baited in the same way.

More likely Megatron was not open to science.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The air commander snarled, flexing a cobalt hand in mild irritation as he stared indignantly at Perceptor's azure optics.

"Why do you follow Megatron?" It was an innocent question; the scientist could not understand why Starscream would follow the silver mech. It could be fear... but Starscream, querulous as he was, provoked Megatron so much...

Starscream sneered and turned his face away. "Don't try to psycho-analyse me, Autobot."

"Answer the question then."

The uncharacteristic impatience of Perceptor's demand could have been surprising, but for the already tenuous relationship between the two of them, and Starscream matched unexpected for unexpected by being remarkably acquiescent in his readiness to give answers.

"I hate him." He said simply, voice rough.

Perceptor stared.

Riling at the Autobot's uncomprehending gaze, Starscream bared his teeth. "Stop that! Don't you try to analyse me, there's no way you could understand! You, with your perfect life and your compassionate leader and your comrades who would smile while taking a bullet for you, when the slag have you ever needed to hate anything so completely so it consumes you! So don't you _dare_ try to reason with me!"

A confused semi-smile crossed the Autobot's face as he brought his hands up disarmingly; Starscream was right. There was no way he could understand someone who thrived on hate rather than compassion.

"I _will _kill him." The Decepticon vowed.

The bond between them, imperfect and strained, and disgustingly abnormal, quivered. Perceptor felt it and at the same time felt his internal energon processor lurch sickeningly. He turned away.

"Well... now what...?" He exhaled, meaning the question only for himself, but Starscream heard it and stared at him with an odd expression on his grey face.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." His voice was almost apathetic in its tone. "What was the point in your charity? I didn't ask for it. I didn't need it." Sneer.

Placing a hand on the table, Perceptor leant at ease, gazing fixedly at the wall, not looking at Starscream. He thought he heard the cruel warrior sigh.

The request that fell from the air commander's high-pitched vocaliser almost shorted the microscope's logic centres.

"I want to stay here."


	9. Chapter 9

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 9**

"Are you _out_ of your _mind_!?"

The rogue Decepticon snerked but did not otherwise show that he had even heard the disbelieving question exclaimed from the vocaliser of the security officer towering over the unfortunate scientist beside him.

"Prowl – not _my_ idea, _he_ was the one who suggested it, I -"

"Then_ why_ did you think to even bother Prime with it? Of course we cannot allow him to stay here! Don't tell me you couldn't tell him that yourself!"

"I -"

"I have been gracious with allowing you to keep that reprobate here so far, Perceptor, if just because of your history with him, but enough is _enough_!"

"That's enough, Prowl." The warm, authoritative voice of Optimus Prime interrupted any further reprimands that his sub-commander had for the meek microscope. Though he clearly had more to stay, Prowl obediently backed down, the angry expression on his face rapidly being replaced by his usual blankly calculating stare.

Luckless Perceptor turned his blue gaze down to the floor, feeling wretched; he had been so amazed by Starscream's request to stay in the Ark that he had thought, for a wonderful moment, that the air commander could be coerced into switching sides. What a fool. And as for Starscream, he stood next to his bondmate, remarkably calm in the face of his greatest enemies for one usually so cowardly, staring with open contempt at the two commanders before him.

"Prowl is right, Perceptor," Prime clapped a hand on his scientist's shoulder reassuringly, missing Starscream's snort of disgust, "we cannot let him stay here. It is too much of a security breach."

A slight repetitive chime drew attention away from the microscope-transformer and on to the Decepticon jet, who had opened the golden canopy of his cockpit a slight way and was fiddling with some of his base circuitry.

The blue fist withdrew and opened. A small handful of parts bounced to the floor with a soft metallic clatter.

"My communication apparatus." Starscream said nonchalantly, considering the dropped components for a moment before slamming his foot on them, crushing them to nothing, and glaring back up at the robots he had fought for so long, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke in crescendo. "There. I am not offering to join you and I never will because you are weak and you will lose this war, but I am _not _about to lay back and let Megatron win. I am _done_ being used by him, and he has made it clear he is done with _me_. If it means that I get a supply of energon and access to a recharge berth, then I am not above begging on my knees – even if it is to _you_."

"Um." Said Perceptor.

Prime regarded the defiant Starscream critically. "That was... surprisingly _noble_, Starscream. Perhaps I was wrong about you."

The Autobot leader rose a hand to tap a finger against his faceplate thoughtfully as he glanced from adamant Prowl to fidgeting Perceptor to rebellious Starscream and back to Prowl again.

Finally, he lowered his hand and tilted his head to the side. "Very well, I shall let you stay here for now considering your plight, but you will be under close scrutiny and you will have an Autobot to guard you at all times."

"Uh, I volunteer." Mumbled Perceptor quickly, seeing the look that flashed briefly across Prowl's face and not liking it one bit, and feeling somewhat to blame for this whole situation coming about - after all, if not for his request to bring Starscream back and repair him, they would not be in this predicament...

"Then Perceptor, he is your responsibility." Prime conceded, nodding graciously to his scientist. "Please give him a thorough check over and make sure he has no remaining offensive or communicative circuitry."

"Right away." In a voice hoarse with relief, Perceptor grabbed the unresisting Starscream's arm and dragged him from the presence of his superiors.

Prowl's controlled but unmistakably angry protests followed him down the corridor.

O

"Why do you keep interfering!?" Starscream snapped, wrenching his arm from Perceptor's grasp as soon as he could and growling like a protective animal. "Autobot filth, get away from me!"

"I can't do that." Perceptor grabbed the jet's arm again, enticing an enraged screech.

"Get_ off_ me!"

Again, Starscream tried to pull away, but Perceptor doggedly held on, matching glare for glare.

"Look, I'm putting a lot on the line for _you_, Primus knows why, just be a bit more co-operative, will you?" He admonished the seeker bad-temperedly, his softness of speech overruled by the lack of gratitude after all he had done for this undeserving monster.

What had compelled him to do this, anyway? Was it... pity?

How misplaced.

Starscream curled his lip. "I would have thought _you_ would want to stay away from _me_. Unless you _like_ having a bond that is painful!"

"Of course I don't!"

"Then _why_ do you keep coming close to me and _making it worse_!?"

That certainly gave Perceptor pause for thought; it was the first time that Starscream had spoken of the effects that their bond had had on him, and, for a while, Perceptor had thought that the seeker had not at all been affected. Apparently this assumption was wrong.

It took some of the anger from him when he wondered if Starscream had been feeling as despairing as he had... but he strengthened his spark by reminding himself that Starscream was the one who had initiated this nightmare.

... No, that wasn't entirely true, was it? _Megatron_ was the one who had -

"Don't blame me for this mess." The scientist's voice was heated and steady, and sounded much stronger and more confident than he felt.

"Why not!?" Starscream retorted testily, his voice scratching against Perceptor's audio receptors. "This _is_ your fault, if you had just given Megatron what he wanted to know, then he would never have made me -" He shook his head, cutting himself off and growling.

Once again, Perceptor was left to wonder; Starscream felt... _remorse_...? Then perhaps he was not so monstrous?

And perhaps... just perhaps... he had suffered too?

Perceptor thought back to the interrogation. There was not much he could remember, but the image of Starscream, urging him to speak willingly even as he opened their spark chambers, assaulted his recall chips.

Then Starscream was as much a victim as he was?

He thought that the sorrow showed on his open face as he looked Starscream straight in the optics and murmured, "I am sorry for what happened, but I do not regret not backing down."

The jet did not hold his gaze, and his body language showed his disgust at the Autobot sentiments that he simply did not, _could not_ understand.

This was getting them nowhere, and Perceptor still had his orders to check over Starscream's systems to make sure there was no possible way that Prime could regret his lenience. He had no wish to have Prime or Prowl doubt his loyalty, and he had already taken so many liberties with their generosity... Prowl had _shouted_ at him...

Best to follow orders now, before his superiors stopped being so kind.

He led, or, more accurately, tugged his prisoner into Teletraan-1's room, where Ratchet's operating table was, indicating that Starscream should sit on it while he fiddled about for the correct surveying equipment. Both of them ignored the the accusatory and sometimes repulsed glares from the other Autobots in the room.

Starscream was patient enough while Perceptor checked through the circuits behind his golden canopy; the only sign that he hated having the Autobot inside him like this was his occasional curt jerk, mostly when the scientist brushed a sensitive wire bundle with his fingers, though he did flinch bodily when his spark chamber was touched, hissing until Perceptor withdrew. Knowing that to move would only drag out this cumbersome and unsavoury process, he settled himself for baring his teeth threateningly at the warriors who looked with distaste at him as they passed by. How the mighty had fallen.

"Hm, what is this?" A voice from his chest asked, and he looked down disdainfully at Perceptor, who was pointing at something in his body. Realising that Starscream couldn't see from that angle, the scientist began to describe the component he did not recognise.

"Oh." Starscream waved a hand, cutting through the careful description. "That's a custom-made control that the Constructicons assembled and installed for me."

"Really!? What does it do?"

If he had half a mind to, Starscream would have laughed at the undisguised excitement in the microscope's voice, but he was distracted as he tried to think up a function. "It... corrupts data from my outer plating, it means that I do not feel pain to the extent that others do."

"Astounding...! Tremendous...!" The Decepticon cringed as he felt cool fingers running gently over the part in question; Perceptor was entirely lost in his own little world, examining that which he did not recognise and assimilating its design.

"Stop that!"

Perceptor looked up, startled, at Starscream's shaky complaint, as though he had come to his senses and was shocked to have found himself gently caressing the workings within his bondmate's chest.

"Um, right, um," He hedged, fiddling awkwardly with his own fingers before closing the cockpit panel hurriedly, not meeting Starscream's cold gaze.

The jet disgregarded Perceptor's discomfort, his voice icy. "Are you_ done_?"

"Yes..." The scientist backed off a step, suddenly nervous and somewhat ashamed of his moment of unguarded enthusiasm, yet he could not help but be curious about the unknown component. "Um. Do... Do _all_ the Decepticons have those installed?"

"Just me."

"Um. Why?" Though he had a sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer.

"None of your business."

That confirmed it. "It's because of Megatron, right?" Starscream's expression tautened, cementing it in Perceptor's mind that he was right. "But if he hurts you so much, why keep provoking him?"

The grey-faced seeker smirked. "He can't control me, it's good to keep reminding him of that."

Meekly, the microscope shook his head; Starscream was proving undeniably difficult to understand. "How long have you had it?"

"A while."

"But... if it numbs pain, why do you keep begging Megatron for mercy? I've_ watched_ you do it..."

Starscream's optics narrowed and dimmed. "Megatron knows that physical abuse does not work on me."

That was all he would say. When Perceptor tried to follow up the conversation, Starscream just turned himself on the table so that the scientist was no longer in his line of sight, seeming to close in on himself and block out everything, showing that he was bored with the conversation and no longer willing to be a part of it.

A flurry of activity caught the attention of the two mates; Autobot warriors were suddenly moving in a uniform direction, all heading towards the bridge, all striding with purpose. Unsure of what was happening and having heard no order (probably because he had quietened his commlink to better concentrate on checking Starscream's circuits), Perceptor called out to one of the passing soldiers, Tracks, who quickly filled him in.

"It's such a drag," the red-faced Corvette lamented flamboyantly, "but Decepticon activity has been detected and Prime wants to check it out." He flourished and added, almost as an afterthought, "I would rather stay here."

"Do you know what Prime wants me to do?" The scientist asked, and Tracks tilted his head to the side as he considered his response.

"Stay here and prepare for incoming injuries, I think." He answered at last, heaving a sigh. "Lucky you."

A glazed look had passed over Starscream's optics as Perceptor thanked his comrade and allowed him to carry on to his assignment, but it was gone as soon as the scientist glanced back at him, as though it had never been there at all. Instead, the jet settled to sneer at the glare Tracks spared him before the warrior left the room.

Rather thankful that Prime wanted him to stay in the Ark, Perceptor busied himself with gathering various medical utensils, spreading them on the very operating table that Starscream was sitting on and checking them over for blemishes and imperfections.

The air commander's attentions had been brought back to his reluctant bondmate laying fragile implements at his side, and he seemed content at first to let his optics rove over the selection of medical tools before him, even running his cobalt fingers approvingly over the handle of a scalpel, before he looked up to watch Perceptor, who was hurriedly scouring an impurity from a flat-bladed soldering iron.

Leaning back on his hands, Starscream let himself relax as he surveyed his keeper. There was something about the way that the microscope's face lit up... almost naively, whenever he found something interesting... that almost made Starscream regret not only what he had done, but also what he _must_ do... _Almost._

He brought one of his fingers up to rub the inside of his left shoulder vent, merely inclining his head as he heard Perceptor was asking him a question again. The scientist really did talk a lot.

"What?" He asked, too involved with his own thoughts to have been listening at all to Perceptor's quiet question. The soft-spoken Autobot repeated himself patiently:

"Why so desperate to stay here? I thought you hated us."

Perceptor winced as a twinge passed through his chest, and he saw his jet mate shudder at almost exactly the same time before giving his deliberated answer in an almost rehearsed monotone, his screechy grating voice kept carefully low.

"It has been made clear to me that I am no longer welcome among the Decepticons," here Starscream rubbed his left arm absently, "but I will _not_ die unfulfilled. I need energy, I have no access to Cybertron without the Space Bridge. As long as I can stay alive, I do not care whose aft I have to kiss."

While, to Perceptor, that reasoning was perfectly in-character for what he had come to expect from Starscream, there was still something off about the way he said it that it did not entirely convince the microscope that he was telling the truth, though he could not, for the life of him, work out what it was.

... perhaps he was just being paranoid? It was to be expected, after he had seen firsthand what Starscream was capable of...

Nipping at his lip distractedly, the Autobot tried to put it out of his mind for now; there was nothing to be gained by letting Starscream know he was suspicious.

O

Because of circumstances that unfolded in the duration of the Decepticon raid, most of which involved the enemy outmanoeuvring the Autobots at almost every turn, the warriors were out for much longer than Perceptor had at first anticipated. While he had been preparing his tools with the expectation of the injured returning within a cycle and a half, as was so often the case with skirmishes of this type, the Autobots were still fighting four cycles later.

No matter how many times he looked his tools over, there was only so long the scientist could pretend to be fixing them up, and, after about the third or fourth time of idly flicking at the same mar on one of his forcep blades, the boredom was mind-numbing.

The discovery that Starscream got louder and even _more _abrasive when he was bored was _not_ a welcome one. There was only so much screeching that a bot, even one of Perceptor's shyness, could take before rationality stopped being an issue, and, as his personality was innately talkative... it had only seemed natural that the hatred he still felt for the jet was pushed aside, just while the two of them were uninterrupted.

Starscream was a surprisingly entertaining conversation partner, once he was persuaded to open up a little. That had been quite a challenge; never had Perceptor seen another robot so guarded as the air commander had been, but, as the day progressed and there was still no sign of the returning army, curt monosyllabic responses had fluidly morphed into more elaborative answers.

At the same time as Starscream, Perceptor felt himself relaxing in the other mech's company, something he had certainly not expected of himself, and he put it down to the interest that the jet showed in his various researches. Finding someone interested in science was rare indeed, and even more so when that someone tended not to have prejudices when it came to differing schools. Starscream did not seem to mind whether Perceptor talked to him about biology, metallurgy, physics... whatever, he responded the same each time: awkwardly interested.

Perhaps relaxing around him was made that much easier by Starscream's sense of humour. It was... well, how to describe it?

It was certainly _warped;_ Perceptor could not imagine finding humour in half of the things that Starscream ended up cackling about, but at the same time, it was... wry, sarcastic, _witty_ and, above all... Perceptor had found himself chuckling softly at some of the comments that the Decepticon had slipped into their conversation.

Sometime in their long talking, Perceptor had felt, much to his own surprise and confusion but not to his upset, a thrill of near immeasurable happiness and a desperate longing that had washed over his core, filling him with warmth, though even this was tinged with a lingering taste of guilt. He wondered how much of it had been his.

And it had all been over too soon. The Autobot warriors had returned in the late afternoon, and Starscream had retreated back into being his normal arrogant self while Perceptor was busied tending to the wounded.

The microscope felt, on some level, as though he had been trusted. He doubted that any of the other Autobots were aware of what good company Starscream could be, mostly because he refused to _be_ that company around them, among the other reasons (such as the war). The throbbing pain in his spark still bothered him, but the hurt of the persistent loneliness that he was sure had come from Starscream had disappeared completely, which was a huge relief. Now that he had had time to recover somewhat from his traumatic ordeal and consider it rationally rather than with emotional bias, sympathetic thoughts for the seeker he had previously thought to be a cruel, soulless monster had begun to filter through his processor. Perhaps it was inspired by his continued closeness to the other mech.

Had Starscream suffered as terribly as he had, he wondered vaguely as he reattached Ironhide's optic sensors. Had he felt the same despair, the same hopelessness?

Come to think of it, was Starscream able to read _his_ emotions through the bond?

"Can you see?" He asked Ironhide worriedly as the blue optics flickered on, smiling in relief when the old warrior nodded and rose from the table to take his doctor by the hand and thank him profusely before heading off to report to Prime. Ironhide had been the last casualty to repair; with Ratchet and Hoist, with much help from Wheeljack, had taken care of most of the more serious injuries, as was their duty, and Perceptor had repaired all those who had come to him.

As soon as the red soldier had withdrawn from the room, Starscream hauled himself onto Perceptor's operating table and dangled his legs insolently, idly rubbing the sensitive metal at the crook of his neck as though an itch there bothered him.

"This is boring." He stated, snerking. Perceptor riled.

"I didn't see you helping!"

The air commander snickered at his over-defensive medic. "Oh yeah, cause they'd simply _love_ it if _I_ was poking around inside them with a surgical laser."

A ghost of a smile lingered on the grey face, but it was swamped over by a sneer as Perceptor glanced at glowing red optics. The jet tilted his head to the side as he watched the scientist's expression.

_For the glory of the Decepticons..._

_It's not worth losing this._

"Come on, get off. You're in the way" Perceptor chided gently, laying his hands on the table next to Starscream's thigh as the seeker's expression turned somewhat blank and another lonely stab penetrated his spark. Some sort of conflict had brushed over Starscream's guarded face, and it confused the microscope, who was not quite sure whether he should offer comfort or a distraction or just slap the Decepticon silly for being an insufferable son-of-a-frag.

Without further protest, the seeker slid from the table and casually brushed his legs off, as though dust had settled there. "Keh."

Perceptor began to clean away the utensils he had been using to repair the injured, wiping the table over with a sterilising chemical, twining waste lengths of wire about his fingers as he sorted through the excess.

"Hey, Starscream...?"

"Hnnh?"

"Well, I'm likely to be pretty busy, and I have to keep you in my sight all the time, and I'll have to stay in my lab, and -"

"Oh, get to the point!" The Decepticon snipped at Perceptor's babbling as the scientist finished cleaning his workspace.

"Um. Would you like to come for a walk outside?" The scientist was playing with his hands again, looking anywhere but at Starscream. "I mean, I'll have to shoot you if you try and fly away, but I'm not likely to be able to go out for a while after this and, well, and -"

"Shush." Commanded Starscream; he still had not lost that tone of one who had spent much time being obeyed without question. "Do not waste your words."

But he did not give an answer to the question that Perceptor had so struggled to vocalise.

For a while, he appeared to be giving it fair deliberation, but the stifling silence dragged on, Perceptor becoming more and more awkward and restless until he finally managed to find his voice again to pester a response forth. "So, um...?"

"Heh, it's not as though I have anything better to do."

Some strength of emotion released the tension in Perceptor's limbs at Starscream's acquiescence, though he did not know whether or not it was relief. He turned away so that the smile that whipped across his pale face did not betray anything. In truth, he had wanted to go outside himself, just for a walk through the desert, and with his duties as Starscream's keeper, he could not have gone if the jet did not agree to accompany him, but a smile could so easily be misread as something more - there wasn't anything more to read behind it - was there?

It was a clear night; the stars far above dotted in the swirling navy and indigo of the cloudless sky, which was still faintly tinged with the receding violets and reds of the sunset. The air was crisp and cool, a slight breeze eddying refreshingly about the alloyed exostructures of the unlikely couple as they left the entrance tunnel of the crashed Ark and retreated a small distance into the desert, just enough so that they would be undisturbed. Far, far above, Venus glowed in faint orange symphony, twinkling lazily amongst her cloak of starry brethren.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Perceptor murmured, staring appreciatively up at the sky as Starscream gave a huge semi-rotten fallen tree trunk an experimental kick before sitting on it.

"Hm." He shrugged, lip curling as he sat back to lean on his hands and stare up at the tiny circles of light above him. A movement that could have been seen as a spasmodic shudder of his arm was interpreted optimistically by his nervous scientist companion as an invitation to join him on the log, which the Autobot did hesitantly, still very unsure of himself around the Decepticon.

Cool breeze heightened for a moment, running the welcoming chill of the air over the vents of the two robots side by side. A wisp of cloud swirled its way in front of the half moon hung in the sky, glowing pale gold as it was. It was... surprisingly serene, to sit out here with Starscream, Perceptor thought to himself as he settled back to relax in much the same position as his cruel partner had adopted.

"I'm sorry."

Perceptor turned his head to look at Starscream before his processors had even managed to tell him that the words had actually fallen from the air commander's vocaliser.

"Wh-what?"

"I'm sorry." Starscream repeated, staring up at the stars, feeling uncharacteristically mellow. "For this... this. That fragging -"

"Oh – um," The scientist floundered, utterly stumped as to what his response should be; Starscream... _apologising_? It just didn't make sense... "Well, I... well, I'm sure, I'm sure you'll best him some day."

He didn't really know why he had suddenly thought of Megatron, but his answer seemed to surprise Starscream, who finally looked at him, glimmering crimson optics rather wider than they might usually be.

"You are... very perceptive..." The jet murmured at length, his screechy voice quiet and hanging on the still air. He left it at that, his surprise stemming from the fact that Perceptor had almost entirely accurately read what he had been thinking about.

"Well, it _is_ my name." The scientist chuckled, tilting his head to the side. "I should live up to it _sometimes_."

Starscream snorted derisively. "Ha, what's in a name!"

"Quite a lot, our names tell others a lot about us. I'm Perceptor, I perceive things. Think of any of us, our name tells something about our personality or... or something like that."

The Decepticon's lip curled again. "Whoever named _me_ must have had a sense of humour." He glared up at the stars accusingly, as though it was their fault, a sarcastic and bitter note leaking into his tone. "So was I named because I make even the stars scream at the sight of me, or because of my ridiculous voice, do you think?"

It was the first time that Perceptor had heard Starscream speak with such self-loathing. "Huh? Um... I'm sure it was nothing like _that_, maybe it was meant to inspire fear... what's wrong with your voice anyway?"

"I took shrapnel in the face vorns ago, just after the war started," The jet waved a hand airily, as though it did not really matter, "there's a scratch on the modulator and a recurring glitch in the circuits that means it's higher and raspier than it used to be."

"But... but why not just have it fixed?"

"And have someone poke around in _my_ throat? With _my_ voice?" Ah, there was the familiar arrogance. "Are you mad!?"

While he could very well have taken offence at the snippish tone that his hateful bondmate adopted, Perceptor let it slide, knowing that he had been prying into the seeker's private reasons.

His clinical mind was, for some reason that he could not fathom, already laying out the information he had uncovered about Starscream. The Decepticon did not trust other mechs easily, that was to be expected, and he was hard to get close to; he tended to chase everyone away, usually quite violently. On the other hand, he had proved himself to be good company when he was pushed enough, and he was currently being... remarkably calm and introspective, as he stared up at the heavens far above. And the very recent discovery that, while he gave off the impression of being such a vain narcissist, there were apparently things that he bitterly disliked about himself, such as, apparently, his very name. Possibly because it was so easily twisted; nicknames like Screamy and Screamer were used so often, and not only by Autobots.

There was no telling what was on his mind at times like this. Unlike the heat of battle, or when he lost his temper and displayed his fury and contempt openly on his dark face, he was measuredly blank at the current, while Perceptor knew that he himself could never keep his emotions so well hidden. Vaguely, the Autobot considered the reason for this, coming to the conclusion that Starscream was not comfortable with the close proximity to his unwanted mate, just as the microscope himself felt.

"Does it hurt?" A cobalt hand passed over the golden-orange canopy, caressing the smooth, flawless glass gently. Unable to work out what Starscream was referring to, Perceptor quietly asked for clarification. "Does it hurt for you too? In here..." Repeat the brush of the hand over the cockpit windshield as scarlet optics dimmed. "The ache hasn't stopped."

Before Perceptor could even come to terms with how open Starscream was suddenly being, the air commander had turned his head back down from the sky to stare at him piercingly.

"Let's renew it."

"W-_What_!?"

"The bond!" Starscream said exasperatedly, as though it was obvious, as though Perceptor should have been able to follow his train of thought without being told. "Let's renew it. Make it mutual. Anything, _anything_ to get rid of this persistent aching! I know it was forced on both of us, but, Primus above, it's not going to go away and it'll be less of a bother if we just make it _work_!"

"Ah – I -" To say that he was speechless would be an understatement. Perceptor had never before felt his words quite as choked off as they were after hearing the proposal that Starscream put forth so calmly. "Wh-what,_ what_?"

Had Starscream lost it _completely_? It wasn't that he was ignorant; Perceptor remembered his protests to Megatron, back when this unholy connection was formed, he had said that it was supposed to be an expression of undying love and devotion... and here he was, suggesting that they make mutual a symbol of slavery? Without any emotion, without any attachment, just making it mutual, even if they still hated each other. Asking Perceptor to willingly -

What was going through his _mind_!?

But... he had said that it _hurt_. He had said that it had been hurting him since it was made, and, while Perceptor had had aches and emptiness and feelings that were not his, he had not had a constant undeniable pain.

No, no, he _had_ been in pain, endless cycles of it... Starscream had been ambiguous in his description of what he felt; he could have been talking about physical _or_ mental, and while Perceptor had not had in the former he had certainly had more than his fair share of the latter. The feeling that his spark was dying, that a black and lifeless void was consuming him... Yes, he had thought to himself several times that he would do anything to get rid of that horrible feeling, but wouldn't _allowing_ himself to engage in a loveless bond go against his beliefs? Make him a hypocrite?

But if it got rid of the emptiness...

Oh, what to do, what to _do_!?


	10. Chapter 10

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 10**

It was a perfect autumn night over the desert in which lay Mount St Hilary and the crashed Autobot starship, the Ark. Blue velvet of the sky blemished only by the glinting jewels of the stars, crisp clear air brushing the grains of sand on the desert floor about in a light and playful breeze. Not a sound disturbed the serenity but the rustling of the wind over the various scarce flora, the occasional distant howl of a lone coyote and the quiet deliberations of a very, very confused robot.

So Starscream wanted to bond again? But not out of any positive feelings for his smaller mate, just out of a desire to be finally rid of the pains of an unwanted connection. Ohh, it was such an un-Autobot thing to suggest, but Perceptor could understand perfectly why the option was tantalising, even though it went against his very base programming to engage in this without love. If there was the possibility – just the slightest possibility that this empty shell that had engulfed his core since that terrible interrogation could be negated, surely it was worth -

He honestly didn't know what to do. On the one hand, to renew the bond would mean to accept it and even invite it, and, while Starscream was certainly rising in the scientist's favour, he was not exactly keen to be the partner of the sadistic jet. On the other hand, he already _was_ the partner of the sadistic jet, in a way... and if it meant that he felt whole again, then wasn't anything worth it?

But what if it was just as bad as it had been the first time? That time, when he thought that he would die? When he _hoped_ that he would die, that his spark would give out and fade away so he wouldn't have to feel the violation any longer? Starscream wasn't exactly renowned for his gentleness... and what if, what if strengthening the connection meant that he would more easily be able to read the seeker's emotions? All that anger, all that hate, he didn't _want_ to be able to feel that, was there any way to block it out? What if Starscream could feel _his_ emotions? Nothing would be private any more, his innermost thoughts, most personal feelings...

Perceptor gnawed uncertainly at his lower lip, staring down at his hands unseeingly as though they would suddenly enlighten him with the answer he was searching for. Next to him, Starscream had apparently lost interest in watching him, staring at the stars again, the expression on his dark face completely inscrutable. What could have possessed him to be so forward? Probably he was just looking out for himself... as always he did.

Perhaps he was really that keen to get rid of the non-consensual promise he had forced Perceptor to engage in. Was there a possibility that the perpetrator of such horrendous crimes suffered even more than the victim?

Oh, why couldn't someone just appear and tell him what to _do_!?

In his indecision, Perceptor laid down his elbow to steady himself against the trunk, shifting to a more comfortable position. In doing so, he accidentally laid his grey hand on top of Starscream's blue; the seeker flinched bodily and ripped his limb away with a threatening glare, hissing defensively.

"Don't _touch_ me!"

"What on -" The scientist pulled his own hand back as though scalded. "_How_ can you talk about _bonding_ when you can't even stomach me_ touching_ you!?"

The air commander bared his teeth as he ran his fingers over the plating Perceptor had touched, as though checking for dents. His shoulders, right up to the tips of the red vents, were tense. A tremor shook his fuselage.

"I do not like to be touched unless I am the one instigating the contact." He said tersely, looking back at the scientist. "Bein' Megatron's scapegoat can have that effect." He bristled at the expression that crossed his companion's face. "Stop that! I don't need your pity!"

The Autobot's temper softened, and again he found himself wondering why Starscream would stand for such brutalisation. "Why follow him, then?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The jet spared his pacifist partner a sideways glance. "I want the power, it's mine by right! I just fight on the winning side."

"But the Autobots will -"

"Lose." Starscream interrupted, sneering contemptuously. "You will lose because you fight to protect, and we fight to destroy. You have so much more at stake than we do. You have more to lose. We, the strongest from Cybertron, hand-selected by Megatron, have nothing but our ambition. We win."

"You... you really believe that, don't you?"

"What's the point of fighting for something you don't believe in?" Snorted the jet, and Perceptor was both surprised and somewhat impressed at the strength of his conviction; he had previously always assumed Starscream to be weak of will as well as cowardly. How very wrong he had been. The air commander might be a coward, but he had displayed impressive inner belief in his own actions.

And that realisation pretty much made up Perceptor's mind. While he was shy and, in his own opinion, not at all brave, he knew that to live with regret was horrible. Would he regret dispelling the curse of non-consent on his own soul, or...

Silently, Perceptor slid from the log and lay on the dry, cracked ground, staring up at the clear sky, the moon glimmering off his azure optics and giving them new depth as he glanced questioningly up at the seeker still sat on the splintering wood. Hesitantly, the microscope pressed his fingers into his own chest and opened the panel to reveal the spherical golden-ochre chamber that protected his spark from the world.

... or would he regret not taking this opportunity and forever having that unrelenting emptiness nagging at his core?

It was time to take heed of the example that Starscream had set forth, that seemed to dictate the whole of the seeker's philosophy; that of seizing anything that might make a situation better, no matter of the consequences. No looking back, no _regret_...

It was all a matter of perspective, really... just think of it as an exciting new discovery... a scientific adventure...

"L-let's get this over with..." Stuttered the scientist, attempting a small, if extremely apprehensive grin and tilting his head as he looked up at his bondmate, who stared back down at him with glowing red eyes displaying nothing.

Then Starscream swept down over the scientist, carefully opening his own chest cavity as he went, his dark face showing only and ambiguous but remarkably settling expression that, somehow, chased away some of his companion's fear. When he spoke, his voice was but a soft murmur. "You're trembling."

A nervous laugh from the microscope. "O-of course, I'm, I'm absolutely t-terrified..."

"Don't be..."

"Th-that's easy for _you_ to say...!"

"Shut up." It was not cruel.

The gap between them closed. Quite unlike the last time, Starscream was not trying to pin Perceptor with his body, instead supporting himself on his own arms and giving his partner room to move should he wish; this would only work if they both wanted it. Beneath him, Perceptor shivered in an unshakable fear, though restraining himself from grasping at Starscream's arms – because the jet had said he hated touch – instead fisting his grey hands in the dirt by his pelvic gimbal.

Before he shut off his azure optics, he noticed that the Decepticon's crimson had already dimmed to inky nothing. The deep grey lips hung slightly parted, gentle exhalations from the pharyngeal vents buffeting his own pale cheeks, and that was the last the Perceptor saw as he cut the connection to his visual sensors.

Their sparks merged again.

This time, there was no ripping through, there was nothing blocked off, no wall of ice and no pain. No creeping sickness, no rush of all-consuming cold... instead, a spread of warmth took ahold of the helpless scientist from his core and blossomed throughout his whole chassis. Suddenly it was as though a whole weight had fallen from crushing him; he felt alive and free.

Starscream was within him, yes, but, this time he was also within Starscream. He could feel, more clearly than ever, memories and sensations from within the seeker's cerebral processors, and, at the same time, he felt as though he would never be alone again. He imagined doing this with someone that he truly loved and shuddered; if there was this much improvement simply because he had said 'yes', how good could it possibly be if -

Mmm, no wonder bonded partners seemed so happy.

Freedom was suddenly a tangible feeling, tantalising and almost erotically arousing in how forbidden it seemed after his weeks of sheer inescapable slavery. Memories rushed before his vision, both recent and not, some of them happy and some of them less so, but none of them specifically private. Starscream was not venturing too deep, perhaps because of a lack of a wish to, or maybe it was a fear of repeating what had happened last time that stilled his hunger, and Perceptor returned the gesture, skimming barely the surface of the seeker's quick recall centres.

He saw Megatron raising a fist, he saw that same fist hurtling towards his vision, he saw white lights exploding, he saw his own face smiling nervously and muttering something inaudible in the fuzz of the bond, he saw Starscream's wingmates Skywarp and Thundercracker laughing together about something, he saw Optimus Prime straight in front of him, trying to get a clear shot -

"Ohhh!" Starscream jerked upwards suddenly, and Perceptor switched his optics back on to see the problem. The seeker above him was shivering, his optics smouldering sangria and his back arched a little, severing the connection between their sparks; the fingers of Perceptor's right hand had reached up, without the scientist even realising, to brush a single stroke down the jet's left wing.

"Um, I -" The scientist panicked; had he _hurt _the other mech? Those blemishes over the purple Decepticon insignia looked as though they might be scratch marks - "Sorry, I -"

A noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan escaped the air commander's glitched vocal processor as his eyes flared fiery vermillion. "Ohh, do that _again_!"

Azure optics widened and Perceptor sat upright, pushing Starscream gently upwards so that their bodies did not clash together as he moved. Despite the connection having been severed early, the desired result had been achieved and he could no longer feel the clamming emptiness on his core. Just the wonderful afterglow that left him fulfilled and happy.

"Your wing?" He questioned fuzzily, quietly confused; usually, Transformer kibble was not overly sensitive. His own microscope dials, on his forearms and on the light cannon on his shoulder, were barely even able to register touch when he was in his robot form. But, as he found when he ran a finger over the smooth grey metal of Starscream's wing and was reward by the jet quivering, the expanses of metal on the Decepticon's back seemed to be bundles of nerves. It was, to put it simply, quite fascinating. "Now why would that be...?"

"Mmm," Another twitch, "the... the platin' is lined with the usual touch sensors on each side, and – mmm..."

"Oh, I see!" That made more sense. Each panel of plating on a Transformer's body was lined with nerve endings in numbers directly proportionate to how sensitive the area in question was. While the wing panels did not necessarily have more of these circuits than other limbs, they were very thin – only just thick enough to consist of two sheets of plating and two systems of nerves, whereas other limbs usually had a base skeleton of metal and gears beneath.

Which meant, in essence, that the wings were twice as receptive as any other part of Starscream's body. Perceptor thought back to that fight outside the nuclear power plant, with the orders to fire at the seekers' wings... he wondered how painful they must be when hit dead on...

Deciding to indulge Starscream just a while longer, Perceptor let himself run his hands carefully over the wings, delighting in the barely-there noises that he coaxed forth from the vocaliser of his bondmate.

So, Starscream was very particular about how and where he was touched. He had shown that he could not abide having hands on him unless he had instigated the contact, except in the case of these tortuously soothing caresses over his hyper-sensitive wings. Kibble had a use at last, Perceptor thought to himself gleefully; he really did learn something new every day. Oh, he could easily have asked someone like Prowl or Bluestreak, whose door protrusions were probably just as sensitive, but discovering for oneself was so much more exhilirating...!

He was glad that he had not denied the jet's suggestion of their becoming willing mates. Yes, bondmates – mutual now, and so much better for it, even if they _did_ still dislike each other... And did they? Come to think of it, he felt that he was beginning to regard abrasive, cruel Starscream as a – as, Primus forbid, a _friend_...

Finally he stopped his careful exploration of Starscream's wings and the seeker sat back against the fallen tree limply, his fuselage still quivering with aftershocks, staring up at the inky blackness of the star-studded sky, searching for Cybertron. Cybertron, the silent witness to their forbidden indulgences that night. As Perceptor moved to join him, the seeker let his head fall to rest his helm against his shoulder vent.

"That is... much better." He muttered approvingly, running a hand over the canopy on his chest.

As though triggered by that simple action, Perceptor felt a rush of contentment through his soul – it was hard to tell whether it was all his own or partially Starscream's - and he knew that life now would be much easier.

It was too clichéd to last, the scientist thought to himself as another cloud partially blotted out the moon, and, though he wished he would be wrong, he felt that something would ruin the mood very soon now, simply because this was too perfect to last.

He didn't expect that something to be his colleague Skyfire.

The huge white Cybertronian shuttle had come out of the Ark for a bask in the moonlight after yet another day of ferrying heavy loads back and forth, as was his lot in life as an Autobot. He was not adverse to it; he rather preferred it to being an active warrior, as he was loathe to kill or even injure anyone, even the Decepticons. He, like Perceptor, was a pacifist scientist dragged into a conflict he would rather have no part of, and, though he was but a taxi service, it was infinitely more preferable to being a killer.

The moon caught his pure plating, glinting off it and causing it to glow silver, lining the red of his engines with a soft blue-white highlight. His optics burned cerulean, twin polygons of light, as he strolled some small distance away from where Starscream and Perceptor were.

For a small while, he did not notice the two smaller robots sitting peacefully side by side, then he turned his head and could not miss them. Perceptor felt Starscream tense up next to him as the huge researcher locked his gaze with the Decepticon jet. Skyfire's face displayed many emotions in the next few instants: confusion, anger, sorrow... while Starscream's thin visage twisted in a spiteful snarl.

Skyfire turned from the gaze and transformed, disappearing into the darkness over the desert. Starscream continued to stare after him agitatedly, lips twitching apart to bare his teeth.

"Um...?" Perceptor asked, looking after his retreating comrade. Beside him, Starscream growled.

"Skyfire..."

"Well, yes, I can see _that_... what about him?"

Starscream spat in contempt. "We've got a history."

Ever perceptive, the Autobot recalled Starscream saying that he was once a scientist, once an explorer... And, as far as he knew, Skyfire had been frozen on Earth since before the Cybertronian civil war, and _that _meant -

"He was your research partner?"

The air commander's expression tautened. "Once."

"So what -?" There had to be something more, had they been _more_ than just working partners, perhaps?

"Keh, he betrayed me and left me."

"But – but I thought that he crashed on Earth on an exploring mi-"

"You thought _wrong_ and this conversation is _over_!" Abruptly, the Decepticon stood and stormed some distance away, preparing to divert energy through the turbines at his heels and take to the sky, though Perceptor was right by his side moments later. What felt suspiciously like a gun barrel pressed against the seeker's temple. "_Wha_ -!?"

The scientist shrugged a little uncomfortably, his gun arm twitching a little, knocking the tip against the seeker's helmet. "Look, I'm sorry if I touched a nerve, but I can't let you go off on your own. You know that, and I'll have to shoot you if you try and fly away. That's what we agreed."

It was obvious that Starscream was not happy with this; he even brought his arms halfway up to Perceptor's middle before he remembered that his null ray cannons were gone. However, disarmed and defenceless, he decided to take the option of self-preservation, choking down his irritation and, for once, standing down.

"I want to go back in." He said dully, his tone listless.

Lowering his blaster at Starscream's acquiescence, Perceptor inclined his head toward the Ark entrance. "I concur, I should recharge."

"I hope you don't expect me to share a berth with you." The Decepticon snarked testily, turning and walking stiffly towards the crashed space cruiser.

"I'm not suicidal." Retorted the meek Autobot as they entered the Ark, irritated at the abrupt mood swings that his bondmate had – one minute open and relatively talkative, the next a rude and unpredictable mass of malevolence, sometimes with no apparent trigger. "I've sorted it out."

O

"Megatron! Megatron!" Three synchronised voices rang through the sunken starship, and the silver Decepticon leader turned from his studying statistics on a computer screen to focus his penetrating stare on his approaching surveillance specialists, who were rushing towards him with poorly subdued looks of triumph on their faces.

"What is it, Reflector?" He asked, never really sure which robot held the primary brain and always finding himself focussing on the centre of the inseparable trio, never able to remember the names of each separate bot and referring to all of them by their collective.

Reflector grinned in cruel anticipation, waving several scraps of paper at their leader excitedly. "Proof that Starscream is a traitor!"

"Hm?" The gun-transformer took the proffered photographs from the hands of the central Reflector component (was it Spyglass or Viewfinder that stood in the middle? Or did they swap around to confuse him? Perhaps he should blow them to scrap just for the fun of it), flicking through them contemplatively, a smirk creeping on to his regal face as he saw, printed there by his loyal team of spies, the image of his wayward air commander cuddling up with that Autobot scientist.

A harmonised cackle of glee rose from the three smaller mechs before him.

"Permission to melt that traitor for slag, Megatron?"

"Permission denied, Reflector." A grey hand rose to silence the rebellious protests. "Starscream is far from betraying me... _yet_." Slanted scarlet optics narrowed at the abject confusion on the trio of identical faces before him. "Oh, I have no doubt that he _will_, and when he next does you can shoot him all you like, but at the moment he is following my orders. In fact, I think that, for once, he is doing very well. Yeeeess, very well _indeed_."

The trio of reconnaissance specialists cringed in fear as their master laughed fanatically at the success of his own evil brilliance.

O

Perceptor's solution to the problem of guarding Starscream while he was recharging was simple enough, and yet quite effective; he had reconfigured the sliding door of his laboratory to, once locked, open only to his mental process pattern, meaning that he had to connect his cerebral board to the door lock whenever he wanted the door to open, but, if it would keep Starscream out of trouble, then it was worth it. It meant that he could settle into a peaceful stasis, rather than having to keep himself semi-conscious to be aware of any activity the Decepticon took.

The shy Autobot had also gone to the trouble of setting up an extra recharging berth so that Starscream would be able to sleep at the same time as him, and he had carefully configured the controls to match the air commander's programming. After explaining all of this to his prisoner, the scientist had settled into stasis very quickly; he had had a long and extremely draining day.

Starscream did not sleep.

Instead, he had much to think about, much to consider and much to decide, so, despite how his systems ached for stasis, he remained alert and wary.

_For the glory of the Decepticons, he said..._

The jet opened his chest and ran a careful finger over the extra component, the very same that Perceptor had questioned in his search for other communicative parts previous that same day. Little did the scientist know...

Actually, Perceptor wasn't stupid and Starscream was not a good actor; he would probably give himself away and the Autobot would probably figure it out sooner or later. While the seeker thought that he had convinced the microscope that the spare component was a pain-numbing device (he felt that he had thought up some rather good arguments to the persistent questions about it and why he was still afraid of Megatron, actually), but what with his dislike of touch... he was in severe danger of being discovered.

Oh, how he hated Megatron!

_Are you lonely among the Decepticons, he asked me._

_Yes, I suppose I am._

The Decepticon cause was important, but, as always, the top priority was indisputably Starscream himself. His happiness and fulfilment came before all else, including his faction. With a quiet noise of disgust, he closed his chest plating again and stared over at the sleeping Perceptor.

He could kill the scientist now, quite easily, and be done with all of this. Flee back to the Decepticons. Megatron would beat him for failing, and that would be that. But fear stilled his hand; he had heard, long ago, that to lose a bondmate was considered the most painful thing able to happen to any Transformer. That was the very reason he had sworn to never take a lover; after Skyfire's 'death', he had been too afraid of falling in love only to lose everything... he _hated _pain.

Ha, Megatron had screwed _that_ oath up, hadn't he? He'd ended up being bonded _anyway_...

Not that he had any_ feelings_ for Perceptor, of course.

_I am the only one I can trust, Skyfire taught me that._

Picturing Skyfire in his mind only succeeded in irritating the Decepticon air commander, who had felt such relief at uncovering his long-lost lover from the Arctic ice only to be betrayed and slighted by the Autobot-sympathiser. Then the traitor had had the gall to attack him, to _fight_ him as though their togetherness had never existed! Skyfire had not been able to understand that life had moved on, that Starscream had changed, that time had continued to flow. Well, it didn't matter. It was Skyfire's loss, not Starscream's – the jet did not need anybody. _He _was the strongest, on his own.

Something within him twinged as he looked at Perceptor again. Perhaps he had been imagining it, but he had felt – or thought he had felt – the scientist's happiness rush through his spark, around the time that they had bonded. He wanted that back; it had been such a... a _good_ feeling. He imagined that, if he ever acheived all his wants and ambitions, and was finally sated, that it would feel something like that same happiness...

Involving the microscope was certainly cruel, perhaps too cruel even for Starscream...

No, it was for the glory of the Decepticons. Perceptor would be an unfortunate casualty, but it hardly mattered. After all, Starscream told himself sternly, hurting Autobots made the war _fun_. Even Autobots who made him feel guilty for what he did...

Pff, when did he become so _soft_?

_He seems to understand me, he treats me as a person instead of a tool, perhaps I should not..._

_Kh, shut up Starscream, you are not this weak. What should you care if some Autobot falls in love with you? Just another thing to laugh at when he realises. Useless Autobot emotions will only get in the way. _

A rush of sadistic glee struck the air commander to hammer at his guilt-ridden reverie, and, echoing through his head, he thought he heard Megatron's inane laughter. He considered ripping the custom-made control from his body and crushing it upon the floor, as he had done for his communication apparatus, but he knew that Megatron would know the instant he did that and that the fierce retribution may even kill him.

Unable to keep his base functions operational with the lack of recharge, Starscream slipped into troubled stasis in the berth that Perceptor had rigged up for him, Megatron's triumphant laughter ringing in his audios.


	11. Chapter 11

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 11**

When the seeker passed into stasis, a small alarm was automatically triggered in Perceptor's neural circuitry, waking him immediately. It was time to get to work. Perhaps he was learning too much about manipulation from Starscream, he thought to himself as he rummaged around and found what he was looking for, holding it carefully, reverently, and setting it aside as he opened a panel in the sleeping robot's side to install it. This was a _very_ Decepticon thing to do.

Allowing Starscream to sleep in his quarters as opposed to a cell had been a... _questionable_ act of sanity on Perceptor's part, but, as he had predicted, his estimations of modern psychology had paid off. One was so much more likely to sleep peacefully in a room that was usually occupied than in an enemy prison. He knew that, perhaps better than most. And he was rewarded when Starscream did not so much as tighten a cable when he was carefully implanting his new part.

He probably should have done this earlier, just to have made sure. It would have been a good idea to carry it out when repairing Starscream. Either time. It wouldn't have been too hard, despite that he was not a medical specialist. It wouldn't have been too hard, and it would have reassured everyone who was dubious about letting Starscream stay near Perceptor (Jazz) that, yes, the scientist could take care of himself.

That wasn't really a problem, usually. Tonight had been an anomaly. Because of the social setup of the Ark interior, Perceptor was not often truly _alone_ with Starscream; there were usually at least two other warriors present in every room with them. Even in his laboratory, the Autobots were only a scream away should anything... _happen_.

Taking Starscream outside alone had been stupid and reckless and foolish and utterly worth it. The microscope smiled wryly as he closed the panel he had been working behind.

This felt wrong, and it left a bitter taste of guilt in his mouth.

But, when dealing with a mech as dangerous as Starscream, you couldn't be too careful.

O

Life, while not having changed drastically, was much easier after the renewal of the bond between Starscream and Perceptor. Quite the opposite to the larger intrusion he had expected, the Autobot scientist felt, for the first time in weeks, that his spark was his own again. Yes, he could feel Starscream still there, but it was not quite as noticeable as it had been. He found that the channelling of his mate's emotions was less shocking; he had more warning of abrupt changes, and, of course, that Starscream had allowed the microscope into his memories was... was somehow warming.

However, if he had thought that this act of merging their essences would break the proverbial ice, he was very much mistaken. Starscream remained as aloof and distant as ever he was, speaking rudely and rarely eloquently, only ever saying anything of worth to Perceptor, having nothing but sneers and harsh retorts for any of the other Autobots who crossed him. He clearly had no interest in any notion of switching sides, and, under close guard, he amused himself by merely watching his scientist bondmate work, occasionally mocking what he dubbed 'lacking' in the Autobot medical and technological facilities.

In fact, the only times that Starscream ever had an even halfway-kind word for Perceptor was when he coerced the Autobot into caressing his wings. Then, amongst the breathy moans, were often barely-there murmurs of how damn _good _at it Perceptor was, if the scientist cared to disentangle them from the incoherent pleased whimpers.

The seeker's wings were his weakness. Since Perceptor had accidentally discovered just how sensitive they were, Starscream had been nigh insatiable, addicted to the sensations and, every so often, perhaps once every three stellar cycles (if that, even) demanding that the scientist touch him again. He didn't seem to mind that most of these times were in clear view of other Autobot warriors; voyeurs seemed to excite him even more, and he was never_ vocal _while others were there, never arousing suspicion. It seemed to be a game to him, to see how long he could last without any of the soldiers realising what was going on, and he always pulled away from the strokes before they became even the slightest bit aware of his trembling. But, while he could disassociate himself from the Autobots on almost all other levels, the sensitivity of his wings was the one area where his cold, uncaring mask crumbled to pieces, and he became a quivering wreck in the microscope's hands.

If Perceptor was any sort of manipulative personality, he would take advantage of Starscream's new dependency and demand that the seeker carry out favours for him in return. That would be a very Decepticon thing to do, and he had no doubt that, if their situations were reversed, Starscream would demand something of him – but he had no desire to do such a thing. While his consent to carry out what were basically acts of sexual stimulation for the air commander was dubious, Perceptor continued to acquiesce to each request, not even sure of his reasons in his own mind.

All he knew was that, while he gave pleasure to Starscream, he could feel happiness within himself, and that, he supposed, was what made it worth it.

And that, when he leant over Starscream to press a hand to each wing, their bodies were brought together so deliciously in a pseudo-hug, and that always made the scientist's spark jolt within him and burn with a desire to join. He put that down to the closeness to his mate's core, because he surely didn't want for more.

Besides, Starscream_ never_ asked him to delve any further than those strokes on his wings.

He seemed perfectly content to settle for the misleadingly innocent caresses, and, while Perceptor doubted that the jet was satisfied with that, he didn't want to push him further, utterly unsure of whether or not he would agree to become more intimate should Starscream so wish.

Truth be told, he did not like to do it too often; there was the lingering feeling that this sort of intimacy should be between partners who loved each other, and knowingly doing it in front of warriors who suspected nothing did make him feel rather dirty. Voyeurs were not his thing. He knew Starscream did not love him. He hoped that he did not love Starscream.

But since it was the only time that Starscream ever had anything nice to say to him...

Since that night, life had become so much easier but so much more confusing!

Life aside from Starscream was... tiring. The Decepticons seemed to have developed intelligence and strategy, and, what was more, they seemed suddenly to have knowledge of several power stations and energy sources that had only just come to Autobot attention.

Naturally, everyone had suspected Starscream. He _hadn't_ been present when these power sources were discussed, though Perceptor had needed to be there (usually the Decepticon spent this time being watched by Ratchet, who_ really_ hated him). Sadly, secrets were not that secret in the Autobot base, and gossip spread fast. The warriors ended up talking about the content of these meetings with each other in very loud voices, even when Starscream was around. In such an atmosphere, it was a miracle that Perceptor's own secret had stayed secret so long... unless everyone knew but was too embarrassed to say anything.

But Perceptor, as he had pointed out to his fellow warriors, could not see how Starscream could possibly get any information he knew of to the Decepticons, when he was watched as closely as the microscope watched him. He had been accused of failing in his duty to guard Starscream closely. He had taken offence at that, what with the amount of his privacy he had sacrificed to watch the jet.

No one dared accuse Starscream in Perceptor's presence after that.

Except Prowl, of course. He had been irked that Starscream had been allowed to stay in the Ark; it went against every logical option that had been open to them when they had found the injured Decepticon talking to the flora in the forest. He had taken Perceptor aside and given him quite the stern talking to. How, he had asked, could Perceptor monitor every action that Starscream took? How could the Decepticons know information that was new to the Autobots if it was not being leaked?

Starscream, eavesdropping, had sneered at him then and explained, patronisingly slowly, that the Autobots were not the only ones with a computer, and that Megatron was certainly not too stupid to work his own and find out things without relying on the enemy to discover it first. Besides, as he had gone on to say, shaking his head as though Prowl was mentally deficient, Soundwave still had his arsenal of cassette spies. They had a good track record of retrieving data from private Autobot meetings because the Autobots were so lax with their security.

Despite this, Prowl, and many of the other warriors, had agreed that Starscream be thrown into the brig immediately. Miraculously, the air commander had wormed his way out of even that; in a wheedling, sickening voice, he had betrayed Megatron, passing a detailed vocal account of one of the silver robot's plans of World Domination straight into Prime's audios. While everyone had been hesitant to believe that this was accurate, Prowl's analysis stated that it made good sense, and, in the end, Starscream had proven himself; the information was acted upon by Prime and led to the first decisive Autobot victory against the Decepticons for over a month.

Even so, this wasn't enough to ingratiate Starscream with the tactician, who silently believed that he was still, somehow, breaching Ark security to pass data to Megatron.

Security, yes, there was a good point. Even Perceptor, looking back at his own requests, had to agree with Prowl that letting Starscream stay in the Ark had been a tactical mistake. If he _had_ been working for Megatron, then that would have jeopardised everything that the Autobots kept so carefully hidden. Perhaps Autobot programming simply _was_ too trusting, too hopeful, too eager to find good in even the least redeemable of characters.

Even though the microscope spent almost his every waking moment in Starscream's company, he learned very little new about the air commander other than what he had already found out, such as the fear of touch and the extreme hatred of Megatron – a hatred so powerful it bordered on a mental instability.

Perhaps the only thing of substance that Perceptor had learned was not to mention Skyfire around Starscream. The large white researcher was a real sore point with the lithe seeker, and this fact was illustrated very graphically to Perceptor when his bondmate flew into an uncontrollable rage because Skyfire approached him and attempted to talk.

Poor Skyfire hadn't even said anything that would usually be considered inflammatory to another's temper. All he said was 'I'm sorry,' and 'I don't understand,' and that was all it had taken to drive Starscream over the edge. There had been a terrible screech of fury. Starscream had punched Skyfire hard enough to dent his exostructure before either of the two scientists could raise a hand to stop him. Caught in the middle, Perceptor was shocked at the sudden violence; he had to restrain Starscream, try to hold him back from leaping at Skyfire.

Although this howling, furious Starscream, the same as he had been so often on the battlefield when arguing with Megatron, was much more familiar to Perceptor than the more subdued and even somewhat agreeable seeker he had been since deciding to stay in the Ark, it was still a shock to see him surface so abruptly, and, though the hatred that the jet's bondmate felt tugging at him through the connection was nowhere near as strong as the dislike for Megatron had been, it was still surprising just how strongly Starscream felt about the huge white researcher.

Skyfire had disappeared quickly after that, and Perceptor was left to calm the apoplectic jet down, which took quite some time, what with the insults that the Decepticon was screaming after the retreating shuttle, drowning out the microscope's quiet voice of reason.

"Don't you ever _look_ at me again! _Traitor_!" The shriek reverberated down the alloy-plated corridors of the Ark after the retreating Skyfire.

With his audio sensors as close as they were to Starscream's mouth, Perceptor could barely even hear himself above the screeching, pleading with his jet mate to calm down.

"Starscream!" Eventually, the microscope had to raise his voice, firming his grip on the infuriated air commander's shoulders. "Get ahold of yourself!"

"Let _go_ of me!" He tore himself from the scientist's grip, turning to snarl at him.

Perceptor bristled defensively, certainly not liking having Starscream's wrath directed at him. "Hey, it's not my fault, don't take it out on me!"

"Rarrrgh!" With a swipe of his hand, the jet knocked several of Perceptor's delicate scientific implements onto the floor, many shattering on impact. His violent ire was far from sated. "I – _hate_ – this! I want out of here!"

"Careful!" Implored the microscope, lunging forwards to catch another of his devices before it could hit the ground and setting it reverently back on the worksurface. "Please be _careful_!" Seeing that Starscream was not likely to calm down while he was confined inside, the Autobot graciously decided to allow his prisoner some time out in the fresh Earth air. "Come on, hopefully you'll feel better outside." At least out in the open there were no exceedingly delicate utensils to destroy.

As the Autobot tugged Starscream outside he heard a distinct rumbling from the jet's feet, glancing down suspiciously, having an idea of what the air commander was doing and warningly moving a hand up to his shoulder-mounted light cannon. "Are you firing up your thrusters for a reason?"

"Yes, Primus damn it all, I'm going for a fly and if you try and stop me, I'll -"

"You'll what?" Perceptor stopped dead, adjusting the focus on his lens and bringing it carefully down to point between Starscream's optics, hating to make threats but having no real choice. "You'll die, that's what."

"Are you _threatening_ me!?"

"Yes, I _am_. I took responsibility for you, please don't make me regret that. I don't mind taking you outside, but if you try to fly off, I will have to shoot you."

For a while, Starscream stood there and stared at Perceptor, trying to glare him into submission. It didn't work. The Autobot scientist refused to back down, and, in the end, Starscream found himself shrugging in bad grace, resorting to whining.

"Keh, I want to fly!"

"Look, I -" The scientist shrugged unhappily. "Just calm down, Starscream."

"You don't understand, you ground-crawling weakling!" The jet growled, marching towards the exit, fully aware of Perceptor's weapon pointed at his head as the other robot caught up with him.

He was right. Perceptor didn't understand. He _couldn't_. Of all of the many things that he had ever wanted to experience, independent flying had perhaps been the one that was forever out of his reach. Yes, he could fly with a jet-pack, but that was so _limiting_. He was silently envious of the Decepticons and the flight-worthy Autobots, such as Cosmos and Powerglide and even giant Skyfire.

Perhaps Starscream was being a bad influence on him, but Perceptor was beginning to see an opportunity and, by Primus, he was going to take it! Just think of it as his finally taking something in return for those touches...

"Well..." he muttered apprehensively, wondering if the proposal he was about to make was a good idea or not – but Starscream was a Decepticon outcast, and unarmed, he had said himself that he had nowhere else to go... and besides, there was always_ that_, after he painstakingly installed it... so Perceptor decided to trust him, "you can go flying if you take me with you."

The Decepticon glared suspiciously at his keeper, trying to work out if there was a catch; he was not used to such offers of goodwill without something being expected of him in return. But he saw innocence on the scientist's honest white face, no hidden depths of deception in those cerulean optics.

"Fine." He snarled in bad-tempered acceptance, figuring that the offer was probably the best he would get.

Nipping at his lip in uncertainty at the sanity of what he had just agree with his captive, Perceptor lead Starscream in a search for Prime, needing to report to his commander before taking any such action. Besides, Prime was not yet aware of Perceptor's new special control in Starscream, which should make regulating the wayward seeker that much easier, and now was as good a time as any to bring it to his attention.

"Ah, Perceptor," Prime was the one who found him, moving in that oddly quiet way for such a large robot and startling the scientist. He had barely a nod for Starscream, who snorted and marred his noble face with a sneer.

"Uh, permission to take him some small distance from the Ark, Optimus?" The leader's face darkened and Perceptor carried on hurriedly, "I've, uh, installed a thin-alloy containment capsule filled with a highly volatile nitroglycerin compound controlled by remote by me on my own terms -"

"Er, Perceptor..."

Seeing the numbness in his leader's optics, the scientist smiled apologetically. "Um, I put a bomb in him."

"_A wh-_!!" Came the predictable shriek from the air commander. Both Autobots ignored it to continue their discussion.

"If he does anything suspect, I can detonate it instantly and he'll be terminated instantly. Um. It's just that, he seems to have a destructive personality and I think it would be better if he... 'destructed' some place else." Finished the microscope rapidly, trying to ignore the seething Starscream next to him.

Prime regarded them critically, "I would prefer it if he did not leave at all," he held up his hands to stop his subordinate from cutting in, "perhaps lock him away to calm his temper."

"With all due respect, I think that might, uh... make it worse."

"... Very well. _If_ you promise me that you will take measures the instant he attempts to fly off, if he does, then I will allow it. This once."

"Thank you very much, Optimus..." Perceptor smiled at his leader, wondering if the talller mech knew about the connection between him and the air commander, and whether or not this affected his unexpected quickness to allow them leave, as he led the seeker from the Ark, towards the fallen tree trunk that they had bonded beside days before. After all, Prime sometimes did such a good impression of omniscience. Or perhaps Prowl had accidentally slipped into reasonings when discussing the sanity of letting Starscream stick around?

The seeker circled the splintering, rotting wood, kicking it once or twice to alleviate his stress as he directed energy though his afterburners, cleaning out the sand and grit that had gathered in them through their period of disuse.

There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun shone down, scorchingly hot over the metal of their exostructures. Perceptor had to turn from facing the log as he realised that the sun was focussing through his microscope and threatening to ignite the dry wood. A wisp of light grey smoke faded pathetically into the air from the dead tree, which cracked in two as Starscream gave it a particularly vicious kick.

"Get here." The jet ordered curtly, and Perceptor quietly acquiesced, hopping over the tree to stand next to his charge.

Starscream loomed behind the other robot. Without warning, the Decepticon wrapped his arms tightly about Perceptor's waist, clutching the smaller mech to his fuselage, testing both his grip and his thrusters before taking off into the dry desert air.

The microscope cried out in surprise as he was suddenly airborne, clutching behind him at Starscream's chassis in his fear of falling as the jet took them up higher... higher...

"Relax and stop wriggling." Grumbled the raspy voice right next to his audio receptors. "I'm not weak enough to drop you."

Seeing the sense in what he was told, Perceptor forced the tense joining cables in his limbs to unthread two or three notches, relaxing himself enough to begin to enjoy the feeling of the air rushing over the exo-plating of his body.

Oh, if this didn't inspire him to see if there was any way to install aerial circuitry into the Autobots, then nothing would!

If he was at all poetic, he would have said that flying _was_ freedom, as he imagined this sensation with his own power instead of being supported by another. As it stood, he was just content to allow Starscream to hold him close – no, _no_, he was content to let the _air rush over him_, it had _nothing _to do with the proximity of the seeker...

"Transform, fool!" Came the jet's command, and, finding himself suddenly unable to think straight, Perceptor obeyed without question, shifting into his smaller microscope form. Starscream himself turned into his F-15 alternate mode, deftly manoeuvring the Autobot into his cockpit.

"Uh, Starscream?" Perceptor asked edgily, adjusting the projection of his lens to stare down out of the windscreen at the blurred ground far below.

"What?"

"Where are you _going_!?"

"Somewhere I can blow things to scrap without your brainless friends accusing me of trying to kill them." Replied the seeker irritably. "Any more stupid questions?"

"Yes, just one," the Autobot murmured softly, "why does Skyfire anger you so much?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Land." Perceptor ordered. "Land _now_."

"What!? _I'll_ decide when to land!"

"If you persist in flying, I will have to assume that you are attempting to betray me and I will have to detonate the bomb that I installed in your body. You will not survive."

"That would be suicide," snapped the jet, "you wouldn't survive either! You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Realising that Perceptor was serious, Starscream saw it would be more self-serving to obey, suddenly banking down towards a rocky mountainous area sparsely populated with shrubbery. Undercarriage down, he skidded some small distance before coming to a stop. "Out! Get out!"

And he bounced the microscope roughly onto the floor before transforming.

Perceptor turned back into his robot form, nervously adjusting the light cannon on his shoulder as Starscream began his rampage of destruction, punching at the sheer rock faces, dislodging boulders which fell to shatter all around him. Even without his twin null ray cannons, he was a powerful fighting force. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea...?

Finally, however, Starscream seemed to burn out his rage; he stood there, surrounded by fragments of rubble, gazing angrily at nothing. "Keh, I prefer to blow things up."

"So, um, where_ are_ your weapons?" The Autobot finally voiced the thing that had been bothering him since he had first seen Starscream injured in that forest.

"Megatron took them away from me so that he could attack me easier." Growl.

_Drop it, don't get him started on how much he hates Megatron_... "So are you... feeling better?"

Starscream didn't answer vocally, he just shrugged and leaned casually against the very mountain he had been destroying just minutes before, surveying nothing with his red eyes.

Then he wheeled back on Perceptor. "You want to know about Skyfire?" He towered over the Autobot, who suddenly felt very small, staring with wide optics up at the air commander. "That fragger fed me lies of 'forever' and 'undying feelings' and then betrayed me and left me. Sob, sob, isn't it sad?" And he threw his head back and laughed hysterically.

The microscope stared, repulsed at the insane cackling of his companion after the revelation about Skyfire and unsure what to make of what he had just been told. It was hard to believe that the huge white shuttle could be so cruel, it just did not seem in his character. More probably that Starscream had not listened to reason, had had his opinion biased by his extreme emotions.

Now was... probably _not_ a good time to suggest that to Starscream.

"Uh, we should be getting back," He floundered, again fidgeting with his hands and shifting uncomfortably as the jet stopped laughing and focussed his burning scarlet optics on his smaller companion.

"Mmm, not yet." A strange look passed onto Starscream's dark face to replace the tightness of the fading anger as he considered the nervous Autobot thoughtfully. "I suppose you want thanks for allowing me to come out here. A repayment of some kind."

"Th-that's quite alright, I -"

The next thing Perceptor knew, he was being pushed to the ground by the stronger robot. He fell back, landing on his aft and trying to compute just what the slag was going on as Starscream knelt astride his outstretched legs.

The scientist panicked as Starscream's fingers splayed over his chest. "Hey! _Hey_! Nonononono_no_! I didn't ask for repayment! I _don't need repayment_!"

"Mmm? But you _want_ it." The dark glossa poked out to whip across lip components as cobalt hands toyed teasingly down Perceptor's sides and onto his pelvic plating, enticing delicious quivers from the smaller mech.

"Ohh, Star_scream_..." the scientist was unable to keep himself from moaning involuntarily, surprised at himself.

Starscream's optics narrowed. "You're so willing. You can't hide it from me."

If Transformers could blush, Perceptor's white face would be the same colour as his mate's eyes; he could feel the heat in them as his internal pumps redirected energon through the energy vessels there. The cables in his arms tensed as he half-heartedly tried to push the other robot from him. Starscream was right. He was not entirely adverse to this.

That didn't mean that he was going to roll over and let Starscream play with him, though.

"I said _no_." He slid fluidly out from beneath the seeker, standing up and brushing himself off. "You're going to have to learn what that word means. And now, we are going to return to the Ark."

Starscream leaned back on his hands, apparently amused. "You know, I could fly off now and leave you stranded here? I could overpower you easily. You're not built to be a warrior." He saw Perceptor raising a hand to the light cannon. "Keh, even if you tried to shoot me, I could get out of your range in seconds."

"Don't overestimate yourself." Perceptor shook his head with a little smile. "I have an accuracy range of approximately two thousand Earth miles."

"I could have that thing off you before you could even process me attacking you." The jet snorted, rebounding quickly from being verbally shot down and enticing a knowing nod from his smaller Autobot companion.

"Yes. I agreed to let you come here because I trust you."

A shriek of laughter. "You _trust_ me!? You fool! How stupid _are_ you!?"

"Not stupid." Perceptor muttered to himself with a sigh. If there was trouble, redemption was just a detonation away and Starscream would be little more than a confusing memory. "Just optimistic."

_And so exploitable, so naïve,_ Starscream thought to himself as he stood and transformed effortlessly into his vehicular mode. Without needing to be prompted, Perceptor shrank himself to his own alternate mode, slotting neatly onto the pilot seat in the Decepticon's cockpit as the latter powered up his turbines to head for home.

O

"Hey, m'main man, care for a li'l chat?"

Perceptor looked up from the modified engine he had been tampering with as Jazz approached him, waving at him cheerily.

"Uh, sure, Jazz, but I have to watch Starscream -"

"Oh, don' worry about that, Prowl said that he'd watch Screamer for you." The saboteur jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, where a gloomy-looking tactician was loitering in his wake. From beside Perceptor, Starscream growled, wrath flashing in his eyes at the use of the derogatory nickname, and the scientist had to bite back a small smile; Starscream and Prowl were not best of friends. Hopefully they could at least last the length of a conversation without tearing chunks out of each other.

Throwing a friendly arm around his comrade, Jazz led Perceptor away from their two partners, waiting until they were out of hearing distance before beginning to speak quietly.

"So, man, how you holdin' up?"

"Hm? Oh, you mean with Starscream?" Perceptor tilted his head to the side with a small smile. "It's not all that bad, really. It's a bit of a drag with having him watching over me all the time while I'm working, but it's bearable."

"Don't be jerkin' me about," Jazz said sternly, folding his arms, "you know what I'm hintin' at."

It was unavoidable really; Jazz had been so worried about him. Perceptor patted his friend's hand reassuringly. "We have sorted out our differences and have figured out a way to, uh, cure it."

"_Cure_ -"

"Well, not so much _cure_ it as, sort of... make it work."

The visored sub-commander regarded his subordinate suspiciously before spreading his hands in a disarming shrug. "Well, eh, you seem happy enough with 'im. An' that leads me nicely on to what I got to say."

Perceptor regarded Jazz with some surprise, admonishing himself for it almost immediately afterwards; Prowl would surely not have volunteered to watch Starscream unless there was something extremely important to discuss and, as personal as it was, he doubted that his troubles with the air commander counted as 'extremely important'.

"Right." Jazz' tone became more serious and he nodded his head towards Starscream. "He knows too much, so we can't let 'im go, but he can't stay here forever. 'S too much of a security breach, y'know? An' y'shoulda heard the murder Megatron was shoutin' about him when we trounced the Deceps. He seems angry enough t'make a launch on us here jus' to get Screamer. Sooner we're rid'a him, the better."

"So what do you suggest?" He had been expecting something like this.

"Memory suppression. Ratchet suggested it."

"Ratchet? But he _hates_ memory suppression! That's why he didn't use it on me, back when -"

"Yeah, but he hates Starscream more."

Perceptor nodded, his energon converter lurching unpleasantly. It made sense, though. Ratchet hated Starscream so much that he had even refused to help the microscope repair him. Something about the jet 'trivialising' the lives of others. "And... how much of his memory would be suppressed? How much would he forget?"

"Enh," Jazz shrugged, "he'd safely forget everythin' from when we picked him up, I reckon."

"Everything?" Asked the scientist, and couldn't understand why his spark jolted so sickeningly at the thought.

"Pretty much." The sub-commander saw the expression that Perceptor failed to hide. "Eh? What's up?"

And the microscope stared into a void of confusion. He had a vague idea, but he didn't want to vocalise it because of how ridiculous it sounded even to his own audio receptors, and how afraid he was of what Jazz might think...

But, of all the Autobots, Jazz was perhaps the one most likely to understand, wasn't he? He had been the first that Perceptor had trusted when this trouble had all started, and he really wasn't all that judgemental of others...

"Jazz, I..." He began, trying to work up the courage and still wondering whether or not he should trust anyone at all with this. What if he regretted it? But he had told Jazz of his troubles before and not regretted it once, right? "I, well... I'm not really sure, I mean, it might just be because of circumstances and suchlike, I really can't compute why such a thing would happen, it's so unlike me to be quite this irrational, but -"

"Perceptor," The saboteur held up his hands, "chill. Can y'tell me so I understand?"

Taking in a huge ventful of air, Perceptor straightened up where he stood and managed, in a shaky clinical tone, "I think I might be..." _Insane_ "Well, I guess I like the company...Um... He's, uh, growing on me." It took him all his bravery to blurt that.

Jazz stared, his mouth hanging partway open. It was all he could really do.

"Y', y'wha'!? Are y'sure?" He questioned in a voice drowned with disbelief.

"Not in the slightest but it's the most logical answer I can find for why I've been feeling... like this. I mean, it's that or, or that I'm overheating all the time, I guess there.. uh, could be a glitch in my thermoregulators..." the hurried attempt at another explanation died in his throat as he watched his superior uncertainly.

The visored Autobot ran a hand over his helm distractedly. "Yeesh, Perceptor, you do like t'spring these on me, eh? Growing on you? _Screamer_?... well, bugger me rigid with a lubricated stick, are y'sure it's not jus' a bug in your systems?"

Perceptor poked his two index fingers together, hedging desperately. "Um. Actually, _like_ might be a bit of a strong word, probably... maybe. I guess it's just some sort of attraction? A kind of admiration of his intelligence maybe? Uh, that is. I guess I've sort of come to think of him as a friend. It's just, we've made so much progress with this and, and... and forget I said anything, you should probably wipe his memory, it'd be safer. Um."

"When did _this_ happen?"

"... Um. I don't really know, I've been noticing it more since we renewed our bond a couple of days ago-"

"You did _wha'_?" Jazz ran a hand over his face slowly, utilising yet more of his infinitely colourful vocabulary. "Primus' balls, y'don't do things by half, do you?"

Perceptor flinched the slightest bit. "We did it to ease the after effects of the first one, you know, to stop it hurting and -"

"It's ok, man, I get it." An exhalation of air from his systems sounded like a sigh. "All this non-consentual bondin' an' th'like, it's all so upsettin'. Agh, but y'know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think that it's just a side effect of renewin' this bond o' yours. Kinda skews your judgement. It'll blow over an' everythin' will go back t'normal. Or as normal as it ever gets, whatever. Besides, we don' have to suppress Screamer's memories jus' yet. The sooner the better, sure, an' we'll have t'kick him out as soon as we do so he don' learn anything new, but we can wait 'till you're ready I guess." He shook his head. What a mess. "Eh, so that's all I had t'report to you, Prowl thought I should say it instead'a him cause he's still a bit fragged with you. I got stuff to get on with an' all, see y'round."

The microscope followed Jazz back to where Prowl and Starscream were waiting (both alive and miraculously uninjured, even if they were glaring lasers at each other), watching the two sub-commanders as they disappeared to go about their business, thinking over what Jazz had said.

It seemed egotistical to admit, but, somewhere inside him, he knew that what he felt was too intense to merely be lingering effects of an emotionless bond. He just wished he knew what to _call_ it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 12**

This was a drag, but it was now a necessity.

_Downloading... thirteen percent..._

He had started when Prowl was watching him, but the tactician had left, apparently none the wiser. Perhaps he had been suspicious when Starscream was not as vocal and provocative as usually he was, but he had said nothing.

The air commander chanced a sideways glance at his keeper. He didn't seem to suspect anything either. That was good news.

_Downloading... twenty seven percent..._

Truth be told, Perceptor was amazingly easy to read. He had probably never had to guard his life with his face, never had to hide true intentions behind a carefully constructed mask of obedience. He was too innocent to be any sort of double agent. Starscream almost smirked at his naivete.

_Downloading... forty three percent..._

Almost the instant that Prowl and Jazz had left, Perceptor's face had fallen. Something must have happened, and, what with the two sub-commanders having come to speak about it, it must have been extremely important.

..._ sixty percent_...

Sometimes, being a traitor gave Starscream a huge advantage. As someone not to be trusted, he had a huge problem trusting others, and this natural suspicion had saved his life many times. When other, less worthy bots were taken in by charming rogues, he was questioning their motives while planning how best to stab them in the back.

... _eighty five percent_...

Just as well.

Megatron had seemed to think that there was a high chance of Starscream's death when he had put the seeker up to this task. This, of course, had made his officer much less disposed to obey, but then, the chance of death at the hands of the Autobots had suddenly seemed much less likely than the chance of death at the hands of his leader and that fragging fusion cannon.

... _ninety nine percent_...

And Megatron had said, 'what a loss that would be,' at the thought of Starscream's death.

... _download complete._

Because what would the point of sacrificing a perfectly able Decepticon warrior be if all that he had learned was lost with his termination? At Megatron's belief that he was sending his insubordinate lieutenant on a suicide mission and at Starscream's own distrust in the Autobots, they had agreed that it would be wisest for the latter to periodically back up his memory files and store the data discs somewhere within his cockpit, amongst the delicate flight controls. Neither the Autobots nor their normal human allies were trained pilots, they could not recognise the complex interior of his Earth alternate mode. That way, if he was killed, then the essentials could be retrieved posthumously from his corpse.

Morbid, but good sense nonetheless.

With the downloading complete, Starscream occupied himself by trying to guess just what could have put that downcast look on his companion's pale angular face. It must have been something about his proposed fate, what with the way that the scientist kept glancing back at him.

That probably meant that his time in the Ark was running out, and that put the pressure on for carrying out the second of his assigned duties. The harder of the two, the more dangerous and the potentially fatal.

Slag that, Megatron was so amazing? He could do it himself!

Starscream was not about to endanger himself more than he already had done. The Autobots hated him anyway, and with good reason. He didn't blame them for that, but, when being in their base of operations was hazardous enough to his health, he wasn't going to give them another reason to kill him.

"So what was that about?" He asked Perceptor listlessly, bored of the silence and the direction his thought pattern was taking, and the microscope jerked as though startled from deep thought.

"Hm? Well, if it was for you to know then we would have spoken in front of you, hm?" The Autobot sounded somewhat amused. "Nice try, though."

Starscream nodded approvingly. It was probably a good thing that Perceptor did not trust him completely. Perhaps he had overestimated the Autobot capacity for stupidity.

He turned away, again bored, raising a hand to his own left wing to trace the three parallel scratches over the Decepticon symbol left by Perceptor on that night under the half-moon. He had refused to have them filled over; the sensors beneath the thin metal were even closer to the surface now, and even more tender, so that even the lightest brush by a strong breeze sent agreeable tingles through just those scrapes. Idly, he found himself wondering where Perceptor's weak spot was. But the scientist had not proven himself to be so weak-willed as Starscream; he had even managed to pull away when the air commander had advanced on him in the mountains. Impressive.

The seeker let his optics dim as his scientist keeper crossed to his worksurface to busy himself with his current overly-complex device of concentration, a tangle of mismatched wires and rotors. Starscream tilted his head to the side with disinterest.

And perhaps the sooner he left, the better. The Ark was dull, the Autobots predictable and there was a disappointing lack of abuse and maltreatment. Watching some hapless soldier being blasted to scrap by Megatron for processing the wrong way was always amusing, as long as the unfortunate victim was _not_ called Starscream (not that often, thinking about it). But there was none of that here, Prime had displayed a complete lack of violent tendencies.

So why would the Autobots follow him? Hard to believe that anyone could command a battalion simply with compassion. They had to be afraid of him. He had to inspire fear somehow, otherwise he would be too easy to manipulate, too easy to be overthrown by any ambitious warriors...

Or maybe the Autobot warriors were all satisfied to be commanded by someone who cared for their lives and viewed them as something more than tools to be used and discarded. Starscream wondered what it would be like if Megatron was anything like Prime.

The thought almost made him retch.

"Starscream?" Spoke his companion in a quiet voice. "Would you do me a favour and hop up onto the worksurface for me?"

The jet regarded him with ill-tempered suspicion. "What do you want?"

"I'm interested in the structural make-up of your primary aviation propulsion systems..."

"You want to see my thrusters?" The Decepticon translated, optics narrowing. "Why?"

"To see if designing flight-worthy equipment for Autobots is feasible." Picking up a solderer, the white-faced scientist watched the air commander expectantly, the slightest of smiles crossing his face when the latter nodded in begrudging acquiescence.

"Oh? All of a sudden interested in flying?"

At least the scientist had the decency to look embarrassed. "I was... inspired." He said no more, but Starscream knew exactly what he was referring to with the word 'inspired'.

Hauling himself nimbly up onto Perceptor's table, the jet wondered at himself and his own acceptance. But then, if he was instrumental in helping the majority of the Autobot force achieve flight, that meant he was once again undermining Megatron, and having opponents who could give him a challenge in the air would just be that much more amusing. Ground-crawling, handicapped Autobots were just no fun to shoot.

A wince coursed through the seeker as he felt the invading fingers running over and around one afterburner before delving gently inside to explore the circumference.

"Can't you examine with your eyes and not your fingers?" He muttered tersely, tensing up at the touch and dimming his optics to blackness after a fiery flare of anger caused them to burn bright scarlet.

"I won't be long," Perceptor said softly by means of apology, carefully recording scribbled notes on a datapad, twiddling the delicate stylus around the fingers of his spare hand while scanning the internal skeleton mesh of Starscream's afterburner.

Deciding not to disturb the scientist further, as it would probably be over quicker if Perceptor was left to concentrate on his own devices, Starscream allowed his mind to drift again.

He leaned back casually, watching the microscope's white face, watching the lips move as the Autobot babbled to himself inaudibly, watched the azure optics brighten in poorly-disguised excitement. The microscope's naivete was enticing... how fun it would be, to abuse him and watch that trust melt away; the expression of betrayal would be so sweet...

Not for the first time, the jet felt a hugely strong urge to attack the Autobot, to rip his chassis, tear strips of metal from him, hurt him in any and every possible way – just to hear his name screamed in that _voice_. If it sounded anything like that delicious moan that he had enticed with his attentions in the mountains...

Mm, and suddenly 'Starscream' was the finest word in the microscope's extensive vocabulary.

Starscream had what many people would call an obsessive personality. It wasn't a disorder insofar as _he_ didn't suffer from it, though other Transformers so often did _because_ of it. Megatron was a frequent victim of this and his current object of almost every waking thought (all the attempted coups and vying for power were a direct result of Starscream's obsession with stroking his own ego and proving that he was better than the Decepticon feared above all others), though it looked as though the silver robot's position in the seeker's mind would soon be usurped by this quietly brilliant innovative genius of an Autobot.

Megatron obsessed Starscream by being despicable and hateful. Perceptor was beginning to obsess him in quite another way.

Whenever the seeker had been successful in persuading the shy microscope to caress his wings, his processor had been overtaken by such lurid, arousing fantasies that only half of his whimpers had been pulled forth by the touches, the rest enticed by unravelling scenes that existed only in his mind.

The air commander was a dangerous mech. He was violent and had little control over his erratic temper, and he was not at all easy to reason with. In truth, he felt somewhat slighted by the Autobots, who had put him in the solitary care of, instead of an able warrior, a physically wanting scientist whom he had already raped once – even if it wasn't by choice. But they would pay for that underestimation, he swore to himself.

... If only Perceptor wasn't so fascinating!

"Right, I'm all done. Thank you." It was only Starscream's training as a soldier that kept him from jerking in surprise at the words that cut through his most recent fantasy. He stared blankly at his partner, who was in turn watching him rather awkwardly, wringing his hands together. The datapad he had been scribbling on to so meticulously was discarded on the clean table next to him. And it was only then that the jet noticed the invasive fingers had gone from his thruster; he had been so distracted that he had become accustomed to the touch and stopped flinching. For someone so usually aggravatingly against having another's fingers on him, that was quite a breakthrough.

What _was_ it about him...? It couldn't be his body – in beauty he was average at best, neither here nor there. Not terribly ugly, but certainly not gorgeous enough to make Starscream drool like a malfunctioning fembot. Was it his intelligence? His voice, maybe, with that funny soft-spoken accent of his...? Or simply his innocence, which begged to be used...

"Hunh, you owe me one." Mumbled the seeker, milking his acquiescence for all it was worth. His statement caused the scientist's optics to widen and glow bright in disbelief before he dissolved into chuckles.

"I'm sorry? I save your life twice and look on your requests generously, and _I_ owe _you _for a breem of poking around in your feet?"

Crimson optics flared rebelliously. "It was worth a try."

A grey hand came to rest on the berth next to Starscream's upper leg as the jet swung himself around into a more comfortable position. Only mildly interested, the air commander turned his dark face to stare at Perceptor's white; the microscope was, in turn, studying him intently.

And Starscream found his attention drawn back to that mouth. Those lip components. Primus. To hear them shrieking _his _name – in pain, in pleasure, it didn't matter as long as it was _loud_. He had no doubt that Perceptor was loud; the quiet ones always were.

"Look," The lips moved; sounds came out. Starscream forced himself to pay attention, "I... I'm being reassigned, very very soon."

"Why should I care?"

"I mean, reassigned from guarding _you_." A sigh. "Just... just thank you, for not making this harder than it already was."

For a moment there was silence, then a howl of laughter cut through it as a laser through hot metal. "You're _thanking_ me!? Primus, and just when I thought you couldn't get any more stupid!"

As the Autobot mouthed wordlessly for a moment, Starscream thought over what he had learned. If he was right, then this would all culminate with his either being terminated or thrown from the Ark – what other Autobot would be fool enough to volunteer to be his keeper?

Perceptor was babbling nonsensically again. It didn't matter if the Decepticon didn't listen; the microscope said many words, yes, but when he was embarrassed like this, he never really said anything of worth at all.

What would it be like to taste -

Like lightning, one of Starscream's cobalt hands shot out, catching Perceptor's pale chin between one thumb and forefinger, tilting the Autobot's head back to better study first his angular chin, then up to his white mouth, staring at it as though it was the most intricate, amazing thing he had ever seen.

He waited until the scientist opened his mouth to enquire what he was doing. Oh, too easy.

Their lips crushed together. Starscream tasted the other robot – his bondmate, come to think of it – and he marked _his_ territory, laid his claim.

Ahh, the Autobot tasted... how to describe it? It was like a mix of fine energon and the spice of lubricating oils, together with the cool of the metal lip plating – the most exquisite of cocktails. There was probably nothing else like it – this was _Perceptor's_ taste and no one else's. And it wasn't at all unpleasant.

... Primus, Starscream was falling faster than he cared to admit.

Perceptor finally seemed to realise what was happening; grey hands suddenly pushed on Starscream's canopy, forcing them both apart. The dark-faced seeker smirked as he drew away, purposefully running his glossa over his lips and revelling in the fact that the microscope was unable to look him in the optic.

"Wh-what are you _doing_!?" The meek Autobot choked out, wide-eyed and gazing unseeingly at the datapad he had discarded earlier.

"Taking what I want." Was the airy response. "What belongs to me."

"I'm not your toy!" There was a thrill of uncertainty and irritation through Starscream's spark, channelled straight through the bond, and even more so that it was tempered with... acceptance, as though the scientist was not entirely adverse to this... And he found Perceptor's unrest deeply, deeply exciting.

"I'm a Decepticon, what did you expect?"

"Certainly not that..." The microscope shook his head distractedly before apparently regaining a hold on himself and glancing back up at the jet. "Every time I think I've figured you out, you spring something like that on me."

That gave Starscream pause for thought. "... 'figure me out'? How dare you try to analyse me?"

"No," Perceptor held up a hand, stopping Starscream's rant before it manifested, "I mean, I wanted to get some sort of idea about you so that I stopped saying things that offend you. I seem to do it so often." The sentence was punctuated by a heaved sigh. "But that doesn't matter now because you're leaving my custody."

"... when?" The seeker bared his teeth briefly. The microscope shrugged unhappily, poking his index fingers together. When he spoke his response, it was only one word.

"Soon."

O

'Soon' had been a rather adequate estimate on Perceptor's behalf; it was only the next Earth morning, when the sun was still pale over the desert, that Ratchet approached the scientist and his wayward charge.

The ambulance was, to ameliorate the situation, not really fond of Starscream. As a doctor, he had seen and cared for so many of the seeker's victims; Starscream had a reputation of trivialising life, of causing the most horrific bodily mutilation to amuse himself, and, as a doctor, Ratchet could not look on the jet as anything less than a monster. Anyone who could do the sort of thing that Starscream did to his unfortunate prisoners without some sort of moral dilemma did not deserve to be viewed compassionately. And, especially after the seeker's most recent crimes...

No, Ratchet was not really fond of Starscream.

And as for Starscream, he did not really care much either way about Ratchet. The medic was not one of his frequent foes, and, apart from shots, they had exchanged no unpleasantness; he was just another in a long line of potential... _amusements_.

"Perceptor," Grumbled Ratchet in his gravelly voice, "unless you've got any strong objections, I'm not too busy at the moment, I'd like to get it done sooner rather than later."

The microscope seemed somewhat startled, but he hid it surprisingly well for someone who displayed his thoughts openly on his face. "No, no, that's fine, Ratchet. Do you need me to do anything?"

"Mmm," Glancing at Starscream, the medic nodded towards his surgery, "both of you come through, I'm sure I'll find something for you to do Perceptor. Wheeljack's busy and Hoist is out with Grapple, I'm a little short-handed."

"What's going on?" Starscream demanded as he was shepherded through into the Autobot primary medical bay, glaring at each of the medics in turn with suspicious red optics. His unease grew when he saw Ratchet bring out a red laser rifle to cover him.

"Lie on the table, Decepticon." The chief medical officer ordered, watching as Starscream weighed the options in his mind and then did as he was told with a surprising lack of whining. Perceptor stood back; medicine, while something he was not entirely ignorant of, was not his area of expertise, and he knew very little about the procedures for reformatting memory chips.

The microscope watched as Ratchet restrained the refreshingly compliant Decepticon, who did not even kick out in protest.

"Perceptor, some sort of cranial sedative please..."

"Right." Perceptor nodded and busied himself, following Ratchet's careful directions.

From the table, Starscream let his optics dim, only listening to what was going on around him. At this stage in the game, when he was already certain of his imminent expulsion from the home of his enemies, he had no wish to fight back and endanger himself further. This was a case of the 'lesser of two evils' – he could either fight back and risk termination, or brave whatever this crackpot old fool of a doctor was going to do to him. And no matter his fears of pain and retribution, death still terrified him more than anything.

Cranial sedative? Hmm, _that_ sounded ominous.

Starscream was intelligent. Sometimes he hid that well. But it really did not take him long to piece together the clues he had already been given and work out quite what was going to happen to him. Suddenly, he was glad he had obeyed Megatron and secured his recall data.

_Megatron?_

For several kliks there was silence, and then, at last, there was the noise, the voice that Starscream both needed and hated to hear.

_What is it, Starscream!?_

Megatron's voice, echoing through his head through the connection that they had established, as clear as if he was standing right there.

_They are about to wipe my memory._

Again, the silence was deafening. Then the question that the air commander had not wanted to hear.

_Have you killed Prime?_

But he had made his decision. He was not going to jeopardise his health just to carry out a task for someone who not only hated him but should have been capable of murdering the Autobot vorns ago.

_Do it yourself!_

His retort was met by an irate command that spoke of volumes of pain waiting for him on his return to the sunken Decepticon starship.

_You are useless. Return at once._

Ahh, that was what he was used to. Perhaps he would be lucky and would see Megatron beating up some other warrior before he received his own punishment. A smirk crossed his grey face as he felt a panel open towards the top of his helmet and he thought over what happened since he had last backed up his memory data. What would be lost?

Nothing of importance, it seemed, except...

Except that kiss. Primus, he would forget that?

... Well, that probably gave him an excuse to do it again some time. And that was the last thing that ran through his mind before Ratchet applied the sedative to his mechano-cortex.

O

When Starscream came back online, Perceptor was there watching him worriedly. The white-faced scientist smiled a little relievedly when he saw the crimson optics flash confused scarlet.

"There. All fixed."

Starscream sat upright on the table and stared at the other robot. The last thing he remembered was... being brought in to have his arm repaired. He looked over the previously-damaged limb approvingly; he had to hand it to Perceptor – he was _good_ at what he did.

In fact, it was surprising that this closeness to his bondmate did not cause that disgusting join between them to twinge in protest, as it had done before, when he had deposited the dying Autobot in the desert sand... how long ago was that now? His time conception seemed oddly fuzzy, perhaps Megatron had damaged his chronometer when he had shot him.

"What now?" He demanded roughly of his hated mate, this weak microscope before him. Perceptor winced almost imperceptibly at the harshness of the tone.

"Now I shall release you outside the Ark."

"I want to stay here."

"I'm sorry, but that is quite impossible." Perceptor raised a hand to his shoulder-mounted light cannon. "Please, come quietly."

Starscream measured his chances. Not wanting to end up as molten slag at the hands of this weak-willed Autobot slave, he decided to obey, knowing that he would simply have to return to the Decepticons and report his mission as a failure. Perhaps there would be a beating, perhaps not, he only hoped that Megatron was in a lenient mood.

But he had to try, at least.

"What? But... but the Decepticons! They'll _kill_ me!"

Perceptor seemed to shake at the air commander's whining, but, when it died down, he carried on speaking with deceptive calmness. "I have refuelled you, you should have enough to keep you going for a while, perhaps you should try to get back to Cybertron or to live away from the war. Either way, we cannot have you among the Autobots. I'm... I'm sorry."

No, it wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to be persuaded. Starscream repressed a sigh – if he had known that Perceptor would be this hard to break, he would have demanded Megatron make him look as though he had been severely tortured instead of giving him a single, albeit rather agonising and severe injury. That would have probably changed the scientist's mind. Ah well, it was too late now.

It was early afternoon. The sun was bright over the desert, burning with a golden orange hue. How long had he been out? His chronometer told him that he had been conscious about a cycle ago, but he seemed to remember that it was late afternoon when he had been found staggering in the forest by Prowl and Perceptor. The blasted thing must be malfunctioning; he would force Hook to check it over for him when he finally returned to the Decepticon headquarters.

"I wish you the... best of luck." Perceptor said quietly, tilting his head as the two of them exited the Ark, and Starscream regarded him uncertainly. Why was he being so... meek? So friendly? What with the hatred, the past that the two of them shared...

There was something not right here.

"Whatever." He snapped in response, unable to think of anything biting as he transformed and, without further ado, redirected energy to his thrusters and left the Ark behind him, not even a backward glance.

Had he looked back, the expression on Perceptor's face would only have confused him further.

O

"Hey, Screamer!" The black jet came in level on Starscream's right. At the same time, another light blue fighter settled in on his left. The air commander snerked irritably; he had not flown straight back to the Decepticon base, instead wheeling about in the air for awhile to try and work out the inconsistencies in the behaviour of Perceptor.

"Don't call me that, Skywarp." He snapped at his insolent subordinate, who merely laughed.

"You finally comin' back after playin' about with the Autobots, eh? So tell me, d'they taste any different than us?"

Starscream drew a blank. "What the slag are you talking about?"

"Ha!" Skywarp dissolved into laughter again. "Look at him playing all innocent, TC! Keepin' secrets from his own wingmates!"

"Stop it, Skywarp." Thundercracker's deep voice cut through Skywarp's cackling. "We were told to fetch Starscream. Not interrogate him about his sex life." For a moment, the blue jet was silent, but then he, too descended into snickers.

"What are you two reprobates on about!?" Demanded the air commander as they drew nearer to the rising docking tower of their headquarters.

They transformed as they landed on the docking bay, Skywarp throwing his hands up in a mixture of amusement and disappointment. "Well, fine, Screamer -"

"_Don't call me that!_"

"- if you're _going_ to be boring, then whatever. Guess the Autobots took away your sense of fun. You gotta go report to Megatron. Come on, TC, let's go find more _enjoyable_ company."

As his two wingmates left him, Starscream trailed after them on his way to report to his commander, utterly nonplussed, for once so terribly confused. Love affair with an Autobot? He had hardly been gone long enough for rumours to have started up already, he had only been deposited in the forest with his arm hanging off yesterday... right?


	13. Chapter 13

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 13**

"You failure!"

Starscream hit the wall hard and slid down it. The room was spinning; his equilibrium upset. Megatron was in a towering rage.

"You _repulse_ me!"

A black hand struck the side of his head with such force that he felt the cables in his neck strain and snap; his protests died prematurely in his throat. His limp body flew across the room, but his fall was broken by the opposite wall.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't just terminate you now, you worthless pile of scrap!" The hand closed around his neck, lifting him from the group, and he shrieked in agony as the broken cables were jarred.

"It w-wasn't my fault...!" The air commander choked insistently, dazedly clawing at Megatron's hand. "They turned me out before I could do anything!"

"Pathetic! You had_ plenty_ of time to do as I ordered!"

A terrible whining started as Megatron began to crush Starscream's vocaliser with his fierce strength and the jet's struggles became even more fevered, even more frantic.

"I was in there for two cycles, and that was when my arm was being fixed because you _shot_ me!" He could speak no further because the barrel of a laser rifle was thrust into his mouth, almost down his throat, ripping the thin metal plating either side with its size and cutting off his words. His optics narrowed in a hateful, pained glare; how he _despised_ Megatron!

The white face twisted in a slow smile as the Decepticon leader realised the reason for his insubordinate officer's contrary attitude. Starscream was dropped to the floor, a crumpled heap for a moment, before the silver gun-transformer again lifted him, pinning him against the wall with one shoulder, still holding the weapon to his head, opening the transparent cover to his cockpit and thrusting his hand inside.

Starscream shrieked at the invasion as dark fingers roughly disturbed the delicate flight equipment, but he could not form any words around the gun stretching his mouth. He struggled weakly against Megatron's probing fingers as they shoved controls aside in their search, sagging in relief when they finally withdrew.

Megatron was holding a small disc up for his twitching lieutenant to see.

"Run this through your processors."

"N-no." Starscream rebuked the command as viciously as he could with half of his vocal functions destroyed and energon spilling from the tears at either corner of his mouth. Megatron's foot crushed his shin plating.

"Do it or I will rip you apart wire by wire, you Pit-spawned incompetent!"

Snarling at his leader, Starscream snatched the disc and began to upload the contents into his conscious.

The rush of memories startled him. He saw sneering Autobot faces. He saw Perceptor, he saw Prowl, he saw his mended arm, he saw a bond by the light of a half-moon, he saw pleasure, he saw Perceptor again, he saw his own obsession as though he was detached from it, as though it were someone else's... and he fell all over again. He felt the scratches on his wing tingle – he had been wondering how they got there – and he felt, as though it were really happening, Perceptors fingers exploring the thin metal. He felt a strange, lingering desire for the scientist's lips to be on him, over him...

Megatron watched with interest as his officer's face morphed from anguished disobedience to carefully guarded blankness in the kliks it took for his backed-up memories to run through his cerebral processors.

"Now that you no longer have an excuse for not knowing, tell me everything you have learned."

"There's n-nothing I haven't already brought to your attention th-that I can remember. Anything else must have happened between my last download and the memory wipe..."

Megatron snorted. "You're useless."

"Keh," retorted his lieutenant, his voice shorting at more frequent intervals, "at least I _did_ something. Why didn't you just use the cassettes? They're more suited to infiltration and assassination! Why didn't you think of that, Megatron? Because you are not fit to lead!"

A new shock of pain shot through Starscream's systems as Megatron's fist connected with his face in a strong punch. His head snapped back, straining his already-damaged neck, and he saw double as the force caused one of his red optics to crack down the middle. He staggered back several feet and fell to the floor heavily, staring fearfully up at his leader.

"If I wanted your opinion, I would have given it to you." The commander stared coldly down at his beaten officer. "Get yourself to the repair bay, I want you looking presentable. You're dismissed."

The silver gun-transformer turned his back on the limp robot on the floor, indicating that the interview was finished. While Starscream was capable enough of causing more trouble, Megatron had been more vicious than usual in his punishment, and the jet ached in places he had forgotten existed.

With as little fuss as he could manage, he hauled himself to his feet and fled from Megatron's quarters.

O

"Wow, Megatron really did a number on you this time, Screamer. You must have really fragged him off."

Starscream winced, sucking in air sharply in complaint as Hook checked the new cables in his neck, glaring as best he could at his wingmates, who stood in the entrance to the Decepticon repair bay.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Skywarp, I really needed that. Ow! _Careful_!"

"Hold _still_." Hook commanded snippishly, removing a fragment of the shattered optic from the air commander's cheek plate, where it had been embedded from the force of the blow.

"Nnngh! _Gently_, you savage!"

Even Skywarp flinched as Hook tugged the fragment from Starscream's face and the jet howled at the aftershocks that shot through his neural receptors, his hand flying up to clutch his eye.

"Got it." Hook set the sharp fragment of translucent material on his operating table before positioning the replacement and beginning to solder it in place. The sound of the surgical laser set Starscream's teeth on edge.

His two wingmates were just visible around the surgeon filling most of his vision, Thundercracker standing just behind his black partner. The commander took out his frustrations by snapping at them. "Why are you still here? Get lost!"

"Heh, no way. We're not leavin' until you spill all the dirty details. In fact, most of the others've said they wanna hear as well, so you can come to th'barracks an tell us all."

"I'll do no such thing." Starscream snapped, twinging as Hook finished welding his new eye in place and holding his arms out so that the medic could reattach his familiar, sorely-missed null ray cannons.

"If you'll just let me cover over those scrapes on your wing..." The arrogant, aloof medic reached towards Starscream's vandalised limb and the seeker snatched it away, out of reach, with a growl.

"Don't touch it! Leave it like it is!"

"Right," drawled the surgeon as though nothing had happened (he had dealt with crazier mechs; he _combined_ with crazier mechs too, Mixmaster was enough to drive anyone around the bend and made Starscream look like a reasonable and perfectly stable personality), rubbing his hands together to scrape the dried energon from them, cleansing them from his most recent operation, "that'll be tender for some cycles. And, for the love of Primus, don't provoke Megatron again, I'm not fixing you up next time you come in here half dead."

The jet snorted and rose from the operating table, brushing his doctor aside easily without a word of thanks, opening the panel behind his cockpit, rummaging around in his inner circuitry just beneath his golden-ochre spark container.

"Here." He ripped out the very component that Perceptor had questioned him about, throwing it at Hook's feet. "Have that back."

"Did it work?" The surgeon asked, bending to pick up the discarded part disdainfully.

"Too well." Starscream snarled, turning his attentions back to his insolent black and purple subordinate, seeing the questioning look in his face. "It was a communication device that would not be recognised by the Autobots. Megatron got the inspiration, it is based on the connections of a bond and it connected me to him. What a nightmare."

Skywarp shrugged.

"So are you coming to the barracks, Screamer?" The black seeker smirked as Starscream stumbled forward on his rebuilt leg, almost too weak to take his weight. "Probably best for you to stay out of Megatron's way for a while, hm?"

"_Agh_ – well, fine, whatever. _And stop calling me that_!"

"Calling you what, Screamer?"

The commander brought his arm up, the tip of his null ray aiming at Skywarp's throat. Oh, how he had missed his inbuilt weapons! "Don't try my patience, Skywarp."

But he had to admit, it was good to be home – even if home _was_ a den of miscreants who endlessly mocked each other. The recovering air commander allowed his two wingmates to help him to the barracks, the mess room that the soldiers were free to wreck as much as they wanted, though he complained and insisted he was fine alone all the way.

A sight that was both uplifting and depressing was waiting for him on the other side of the airlock door to the barracks; what appeared to be every single Decepticon rank and file warrior was there lounging about expectantly. The second trio of seekers, Thrust, Dirge and Ramjet, had congregated in a corner, and the cassette brothers Frenzy and Rumble were loitering beside their larger comrades, the Triple-Changers Astrotrain, who was worn out from a shuttle run to Cybertron via Earth's moon and back, and Blitzwing. The Constructicons Mixmaster and Scavenger were at ease beside the Combaticon Vortex and all of the Stunticons. And there, huddled together, were the three Reflector robots.

Oh, brilliant. A gathering of probably the least stable minds in all of the Decepticons, and they were all here to hear what Starscream had to say for himself and his escapades in the Autobot headquarters? That made sense, actually, they probably assumed he had been his usual abusive self...

"So, Starscream," the three-tone harmonised voice of the visual reconnaissance specialists rang out, "what's the Autobot scientist like?"

Primus, they were all insane.

"How the frag do you know about that?" The jet demanded, limping over to an empty berth and settling onto it irritably, not feeling up to entertaining a room full of the least likeable Decepticons that had accompanied Megatron to Earth.

"I went to keep an eye on you, traitor." The three Reflectors, as if from nowhere, produced several photographs between their fingers, waving them before Starscream's eyes.

The seeker growled. "Megatron sent you to spy on me?"

"Just as well he did, eh? Otherwise we wouldn't get this fun."

Skywarp and Thundercracker deposited themselves on spare berths to Starscream's left, with the Reflector components shuffled towards him on his right. "So why don't you spill all the little details for us, Screamer?"

Starscream's mood was lightening, in some respects. In truth, he revelled in the attention on him, back in his element at last. On having eyes on him. Perhaps the arousal and excitement he got from his exhibitionism stemmed from his thirst for attention. Time to play to the crowd.

"Details? You want details?" He smirked. "Ask away then."

It was a sudden babble of voices, even those who had been feigning disinterest wanted in on the gossip; quite often, while Megatron was thinking up his next evil plan, there was so little to do in the underwater headquarters that anything that seemed as though it would be remotely amusing was leapt on.

Like Starscream's alleged love affair with an Autobot.

"So what do Autobots taste like?" Dirge rumbled in his slow, deliberate way, tilting his head to the side.

"Better than any of you slaggers, that's for sure." Was the airy answer, Starscream already deciding to take nothing seriously and wallow in his admiring fans.

"Was he willing, was he willing?" Mixmaster demanded, his repetition punctuated by his own insane cackles.

"A real little whore."

The three Reflector models piped up. "Was he loud?"

"I'm surprised you didn't hear him when you were taking those." The air commander relaxed back, waving his hand at the photographs that Spyglass still held.

"Well, was it worth it?" Someone called over the cackles.

"Yeah, what did he look like when you had him?"

Starscream distorted his face into a cruel caricature of pleasure, parodying the expressions that had played across Perceptor's face during the renewing of their bond. The whole room of Decepticons collapsed in paroxysms of mocking laughter at their commander's antics as he played to the attentions of his subordinates.

Only one Decepticon was not laughing at Starscream's mockery, and that was Thundercracker, who was sat next to Skywarp looking distant and somewhat disapproving. As the warriors around him howled in rigours of mirth, the light blue seeker brought his ankle up to rest on his opposite knee and stared into nothing, disassociating himself from the assassination of Perceptor's character.

"Let me have a go with your Autobot whore next time, Screamer." One of the interchangeable combiners catcalled, and his fellows whooped in sadistic good humour.

The jet stopped watching Thundercracker; he had never really cared all that much about what his wingmates thought of him, as all his actions were for himself in the end, but, for some reason, the lack of response from the blue mech was somehow worrying.

And suddenly Starscream did not feel like being the centre of attention any more. His fellow warriors distracted by joking amongst themselves about the low inhibitions of the Autobots and the lies he had fed them, none of them really noticed when he rose from his berth and left the barracks.

Something was wrong with him. His recent memories didn't feel like his own, after having been erased and re-uploaded, it seemed too much as though he was living someone else's lie. And why, after his terrible reputation and the horrendous crimes he had committed, did he feel guilty simply because he had slandered Perceptor's good name to soldiers who were just as likely to start their own rumours?

The airlock door shut behind him. Swift footsteps followed him down the corridor.

"Starscream!" Called a deep voice after him.

"Get lost, Thundercracker."

Thundercracker ignored him, sidling up next to him and falling into step. "Why did you do that?"

"Leave me alone."

"You do know what you've unleashed, don't you? You do know what they'll _do_ to him next time they see him." When Starscream was silent, the light blue seeker continued. "They'll tear him apart! You've just given them permission to treat him like some sort of – to treat him like_ you_ treated him! Is that really all right with you?"

"Leave me _alone_!" Starscream snapped, speeding up to a faster walk, ignoring the twinges from his recuperating leg.

Thundercracker matched his step easily. "Megatron didn't tell you to do that. You've really sunk this low. That's disgusting. None of them respect you, you know, they all think you're a laughingstock. Did you really do it just for their benefit? That's low."

"You know, Thundercracker, if I didn't know you better, I'd say that you're worried about what happens to that Autobot."

"That's stupid. I'm more disgusted at what you're doing. I knew you were an exhibitionist, but what you've just told everyone? Publicising what should be private? You can't tell me you enjoy it."

"What if I told you that I _did_ enjoy what I did?" Starscream snapped, being rapidly irritating.

"You'd be lying." Thundercracker rumbled, his deep sonorous voice cutting through his commander's spark. "I saw you back when you interrogated that scientist. You were bent double against the wall – you were almost_ vomiting_!"

Starscream riled, but he said nothing; Thundercracker was speaking the truth, after all. He had been disgusted – _sickened _– after what Megatron had made him do, he had barely managed to keep his composure in front of the Autobot prisoner; he had only just made it out of the prison before the waves of nausea assaulted him.

"If it was so terrible, why carry it on?" Thundercrakcer was a reasonable robot. Perhaps the least sociopathic of all of the Decepticons. He spent so much time second-guessing all of his actions because he was ruled by his conscience, and, sometimes, it seemed to Starscream that he was not really happy with what he did in the army, for the Decepticon cause. "Why not just leave the scientist be? Is the humiliation of an Autobot really worth all that? Worth the price of your _soul_?"

"I had no choice." Grouched the air commander, kicking sullenly at the wall, though not hard enough to cause himself pain.

"Ridiculous, of course you had a choice!"

With an exhalation of air that sounded like a weary sigh, Starscream stopped, slamming his hand against the wall to halt Thundercracker in his tracks. "What is the most important thing to you, Thundercracker? Ask any of the Decepticons and they will give one of two answers – either the Decepticon cause, or themselves. My answer is 'myself', and if I had refused, Megatron would have killed me."

"Skywarp." The blue seeker said smoothly.

He was met by a blank red-eyed stare. "What? I'm _Starscream_, you fool."

"No," Thundercracker explained patiently, "you asked me what the most important thing to me was. I'm answering you. Skywarp is. Not me. Not the Decepticons. Skywarp."

Starscream regarded his subordinate critically. "So _that_ explains why you're being so anal about this. You're bonded to Skywarp."

"Yes, and we are happy, because that's what a bond is _meant _for. It's not a crime to be happy."

"Kh," His temper ill again, Starscream restarted his brisk walk, heading back to his own quarters. Predictably, Thundercracker tailed him.

"Do you even know what a bond _is_, Starscream?"

"Yes, I know perfectly well," snapped the officer, reciting tonelessly, "it's when two Transformers unite their sparks so they can always be together, an ultimate expression of love. What of it?"

"And you can still say that after what you did!?" Thundercracker turned his head away, no longer able to look at his commander. "If you think that you will_ever _be respected as a leader here after doing that... There are things that are not worth doing, even for the Decepticons."

For a while, the two walked in silence, Thundercracker lost in his own moral conflict and Starscream, rather uncharacteristically, was thinking over what his wingmate had been saying, and the memories that whirled through his processor, uploaded from his back-up disc.

Thoughts of his most recently acquired obsession mingled in his processor with the false stories he had fed to his comrades in the barracks. What of Perceptor? If they did treat him as some sort of amusement toy, what would the jet do? Would he stand by and watch, or would he defend what was _his_ by right? And in his own mind, he felt he already knew the answer.

"Thundercracker," he murmured passively, "I'm going to tell you something, and you are going to tell no one, not even Skywarp, understand?"

"Very well, as you wish."

"Reflector took those photographs from when we were bonding. We both agreed to it, to get rid of the remnants of that first one. And I felt it." He ran a hand over his cockpit, over his spark chamber. "Right here, I felt_his_ happiness. And, Primus above, Thundercracker, I want that back, I'll do anything to get that back."

Thundercracker had stopped dead, an odd expression on his white face as he stared at his commander. "Primus above... you really do love him, don't you?"

"Love?" The lieutenant snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I just want that feeling of satisfaction and fulfilment."

"You want him to be happy."

"Ye – _no_!" Starscream growled, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Stop twisting my words! I don't care if it's mine or his through my spark, I just want to be happy! Is that too much to ask!?"

Thundercracker gave up trying to deal with his irritable, antisocial superior, shaking his head in resignation and turning away. "You would be happy a whole lot easier if you just accepted some help every once in a while, you know? Just because you're a Decepticon doesn't mean you have to be completely heartless."

"You sound like an Autobot."

"Don't get me wrong, I like beating Autobots as much as the next guy, but I know where to draw the line." He sighed. "Well, whatever,_ Screamer_."

And he was gone halfway down the corridor before Starscream could even think to complain at the use of that damned nickname.

O

He was a genius indeed. He'd only had the time since Starscream had left to work in peace, and he had hardly notice the kliks tick by, but already he had built almost an exact working replica of one of the air commander's twin thrusters.

Perceptor's study of the Decepticon's aviation system was bearing its fruit already; with one turbine finished, it would be easy to mass produce, and that meant that it was one step further to achieving flight for the Autobot forces. There was still much work to be done, such as the rest of the flight-worthy circuits.

Despite his success, Perceptor was far from as elated as he should be. He was distracted, almost depressed, not leaving his laboratory and talking to himself less frequently than he usually would. Sometimes he found himself asking questions to someone else, expecting a snarked answer in response but receiving only silence. He could not understand why he felt so lonely all of a sudden.

Of course, it might be because the robot he had perhaps come to regard as his partner was no longer around. He had become used to Starscream's sarcastic responses to almost everything, and he was even beginning to miss those relentless red eyes studying him. Yes, the scrutiny had made him feel somewhat uncomfortable and self-conscious, but at the same time, he felt as though Starscream was looking straight through him.

"I guess I do miss him." He told the completed turbine, watching it interestedly as though it was about to answer him in Starscream's voice. "Oh, look at me! I can't even stop thinking about him. What's wrong with me!"

And he flopped onto the floor, sitting with his back against the workbench, clutching his forceps in both hands tightly and staring up at the ceiling far above.

"It's because he challenged me, that's why." He breathed, coming to his own conclusions about his yearning, his pining for his enemy. "Intellectually, he was interested in what I cared about and intelligent enough to give me invigorating conversation, and he was always making me question myself and second-guess my decisions... it's good to have someone like that around, even if he did hate me."

The forceps were twirled around his fingers once, twice, and then dropped to the floor. He stared at the discarded implement with sad, dejected azure eyes, which had lost a measure of their brightness.

"This isn't like me, this isn't like me at all." He muttered to it. "I should hate him after what he did to me... but he does make me feel so _alive_..."

His grey hand slid from his lap to rest on the floor by his pelvic gimbal. He did not bother to move it from where it landed.

And to make it all the more confusing, was Starscream coming on to him? There had been all those requests for touches on his wings, and then that little episode in the mountains where the microscope had almost succumbed to the seeker's seduction, and then that kiss...

Mm, that kiss, that kiss that had set his nerve endings on fire and chilled them to ice at the same time. He had been torn somewhere between an extreme repulsion, panic at what the air commander had been doing and, not without guilt, a nagging desire for it to never end.

What was Starscream trying to achieve? Was he even still alive? If the Decepticons found him, they would surely kill him after he had betrayed Megatron and fled. He had surely used up all his chances now, what with the number of times he had stabbed his leader in the back.

But he couldn't be dead yet. Perceptor had a feeling that he would know whenever Starscream died; they were tied together, after all, like two entwined threads forever tangled with each other. His spark felt as though it had been stabbed when Megatron shot Starscream through, he would probably feel something similar if the air commander was terminated.

In truth... he did want to see Starscream again, but he didn't know what he would say to the seeker. He let his head fall back hopelessly. He just wanted to see Starscream again. No idea what he would do, no idea what he would say, but he knew that being denied the seeker's company only made him want it more.

This was not at all like him, it worried him a little. Perhaps Starscream had tampered with his circuits somehow? And what if Starscream really _did_ hate him? Did it change anything? He wanted to see Starscream again, he felt as though that would somehow answer everything.

Curse his inquisitive personality, that was probably the reason he was thinking about the Decepticon so much. There was just so much he didn't _know_ about the enigmatic flighted warrior, and that made him want to discover more.

... Yes, that made sense. That must be the only reason that he wanted, that he desired to see Starscream so, so much, that he couldn't get the seeker out of his mind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 14**

It was so, so smooth - flawless, absolutely flawless. Like feeling perfection. Not even battle damage, not a single seam even, just smoothness on his fingertips, like it had just come straight from the manufactory. Not even Primus could be so smooth, so _brilliant_...

And he touched and he stroked.

And he moaned in bliss, lips parted as he struggled for air, spreading his fingers, seeing the scientist before him. He imagined cutting into that perfect body to lick the spilling energon away and he imagined hearing the screams of mingled ecstatic pain, and he almost felt those lips on his; he somehow felt he already knew what they would taste like. And he liked what he tasted and he liked what he felt and he liked what he heard.

And he felt a touch on his own pectoral vent, and he was able to stomach it without flinching away, and he purred as that touch explored the turbine, twisting fingers elegantly about the blades before gliding up to stroke his neck.

And, unbidden, the scientist's name fell from his lips, "_Oh Primus, Perceptor…_", and he arched his back, moving his fingers down that perfect, perfect smooth surface, searching for the weak points, wanting to hear the delicious breathy whimpers in response.

And his world felt as though it was unravelling, unable to believe that he was finally able to do this, well, he was going to explore to the fullest, to take what was his, to give in return what he saw fit to give, to stroke, to taste, to bite, to beat, to…

To trail his hands down and entice screams when he brought the scientist to overload, mm, yes… there would be nothing sweeter… and he could almost see that red body bucking beneath him...

Down, down over the tantalising verticals to a brilliant angle in the structure, over that beautiful keyboard…

… beautiful keyboard?

Starscream froze. His head snapped back down, having tilted upwards to give him better access to caress his own neck, and he stared at the computer screen that he had been inadvertently groping as it reproachfully showed him the data he had called up to study. No wonder it had been so smooth, of course a computer wouldn't have battle damage. There was an increase in the humming of his vents as they worked to cool his overheating systems, and the inside of his chest tingled at the sparks he had encouraged with his own touch.

He felt utterly ridiculed, standing alone in front of a supercomputer terminal, touching himself and his workstation and whispering the name of that Autobot, fantasising, _hallucinating_, as though he were really there. Where had his self-control gone, he wondered, somewhat disjointedly, as he glanced around hurriedly to make sure that his embarrassing display had not been overseen by any prying eyes. While he would be the first to admit to his fascination with exhibiting himself, he was not usually so… unguarded.

Damn Perceptor! Damn him!

The jet's circuits burned and he threw a punch at the offending computer, his cobalt fist smashing straight through the reinforced screen and into the internal structure. There was some small comfort to be had in the sound of shattered fragments falling to the floor, and, in a slightly psychopathic way, it was almost prophetic, symbolising his rather fragile psyche. He felt as though Perceptor had done that very same thing to his sanity.

Those fragments made an addictive chiming noise as they bounced off the metal floor. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle… He withdrew his hand, idly picking shards from where they had embedded in his fingers and dropping them to listen to that soothing noise.

It was easy to see what his problem was. He was being denied Perceptor's touch and affections and he was being denied the ability to touch and hurt and take and listen - Primus, how he wanted to hear Perceptor _scream_ for him, that desire grasped him above all the others… And Starscream was many things, but being good at accepting when he was denied what he wanted was not one of his virtues.

Frag! He'd been _overloading_ himself while imagining that it was Perceptor touching him! _Frag_!

Once again, Starscream's optics roved over every corner of the room he was in. It would be bad news for him if he let this get around; he had been pretty vocal in his little… _episode_, and his reputation among the Decepticons, if what Thundercracker had said was true, was already shockingly poor. He didn't need them thinking of him as some sort of easy lay.

Something moved. He shot at it. It turned out to be nothing more than a precariously-balanced datapad falling from a worksurface to the floor.

At the blast from his null ray, it sparked once and died.

Knowing his luck, there was probably one of Soundwave's damned cassettes lurking around, and then Soundwave would find out and then, oh _frag_, there would be_ videos_… everyone would see, _Megatron_ would find out…

Well, the only solution to _that_ problem was to kill Megatron, not that he needed another excuse.

But that was beside the point. He had lost his self-control and brought himself nearly into a sexual frenzy, and not even in his private quarters - no, in the middle of a work room in the Decepticon headquarters, where anyone could see… All the while imagining that an Autobot, always that one same Autobot, was teasing him with his fingers.

Why him? Why Perceptor? Perceptor wasn't the type of robot that Starscream would usually associate with lust or even being skilful at pulse manipulation and such lewd activities. So why him? Why was it him that Starscream had chosen, rather than someone more worthy of his attentions?

It made even less sense when Starscream considered what Perceptor stood for. He was an Autobot, not a Decepticon. He represented stability and sense and romance and calm. That was not what Starscream felt he wanted – as a flier born, he was wild, untameable, _free_... Usually accepting the limitations that having Perceptor as his entailed meant that he would have unwelcome fetters, shackling him, grounding him as surely as manacles in Megatron's brig... but, when he ran it through his processors, maybe he didn't mind being imprisoned by that Autobot's chain, not when it fit him so well...

But why_ Perceptor_?

Perhaps it was because he was innocent enough to be fun to manipulate and betray. Perhaps it was because his voice was perfect for shrieking loudly in pain or pleasure or whatever. Perhaps it was simply because he was an Autobot, and that any relationship between them was forbidden and thus so much more enticing.

… Perhaps it was time to admit to himself that he was obsessed.

"Useless malfunctioning slagspawned contraption…" Starscream muttered derogatorily at the computer, his voice venomous and spiteful as he gave it a disciplinary kick, as though blaming it for his mistake. He glared down at the shattered screen on the floor - he would probably be expected to clear that up, he realised with a snarl, and he solved that issue by shooting the fragments until they were little more than molten pools of liquid staining the purple metal. If Megatron still had a problem with that, well, whatever, he would just have to get over it.

Truth be told, Starscream had been in a foul mood ever since Thundercracker had dogged him about his escapades with the Autobot whose name he had carelessly and slanderously driven into the mud.

He didn't know whether he was upset because of the inexplicable lingering guilt that had been eating at his mind since he had spread the lies or because of the thought of letting Perceptor fall into the rough, unforgiving hands of his comrades. Not that he was worried about the microscope's well-being – of course he wasn't, he_ knew_ he wasn't – but he would rather not have his possessions bashed and broken by ungentle mauling.

There was no point trying to carry on with his work. The computer was slagged and he couldn't concentrate like this, not when he was so agitated. He needed to let off energy, either by killing things or...

Slamming out of the room he had been in angrily, the air commander considered his next move. He hated being here and doing nothing, not when that meant that he was left alone with his treacherous thoughts; he had already caught himself manipulating his own circuit charges, caressing his own body...

Gah! No, no, _no_! These erotic thoughts, so provoking, so arousing, were not the sort of thing that should be running through his mind, not in public!

Damn Perceptor! Damn him to the Pit!

Starscream stormed towards his own quarters, almost knocking an oblivious Ramjet to the floor in his haste. He didn't stop to apologise. He was preoccupied with his own troubling obsession – not that he would have apologised even if he_had_ been in a good mood, of course. But how he wanted to get his hands on Perceptor and bash the scientist's head in for what he had_done_ to his mind, how he wanted to attack him and punish him...

... and kiss him and caress him and _claim_ him.

As his vents began to thrum faster to cool systems that were once again rapidly overheating, Starscream was rescued from his lecherous fantasies by a wisp of emotion that was entirely misplaced for his current physical state. A thread of loneliness, of wanting, interweaving with his excitement, and, as it subsided, he wondered where it had come from.

It didn't seem to have been triggered by anything he could think of; while it was true that he often did feel isolated and even ostracised by his fellow Decepticons, it was usually in the heat of an argument or while being mocked after another failed attempt at a coup, and it was never while he was in his own company.

And then the craziest of thoughts hit him – what if it had come from Perceptor? Through the bond? He _had_ been feeling the scientist more since they had made mutual that ridiculous connection, and since it had been first established he had had flashes of faint feelings that did not belong to him... he could tell they were not his because of how _weak_ they had been, often feelings such as _love_ and _warmth _and_ concern_, which no self-respecting traitor of his calibre should ever feel so strongly. But, from all he had learned of the scientist, Perceptor was not often victim to such strength of negativity.

... Which, thinking about it, made no sense. Surely as a victim of what he had lived through as a Decepticon prisoner, Perceptor had suffered, and must have carried on suffering for quite some time afterwards – so why hadn't Starscream felt it?

He knew that Perceptor had felt him. That the scientist had been so concerned about whether or not he was alone among the Decepticons had led Starscream to the conclusion that his thoughts were not entirely private. But if it worked one way, why not the other? Had the Autobot found a way to protect his pain? To suffer alone, in silence?

On the one hand, it was such a foolish thing to do, and on the other... hadn't he himself tried to do the same thing? There was just something about having others know of his trials that made him feel so weak, perhaps that was another thing he shared with that microscope.

Then the most wonderful suspicion hit him, and it propelled him straight back into his lustful dreaming. And what if it was _him_ that Perceptor was wanting? Oh, the thought that the scientist might be _missing_ him...

Because if Perceptor was missing him, he had an opening to get into the scientist's trust again, and from there the opportunities were endless -

Starscream entered his quarters with his dreams of manipulation and stimulation, and, if his belief was accurate, he now had the means to get what he wanted. And then he would be able to live out these fantasies in real life, _mmm_...

The airlock door closed behind the air commander. Very soon afterwards, his vents were once again thrumming to cool overheating circuits.

O

Well, this was a bit of a pickle.

He now had one completed working turbine, fully tested, and one semi-built, but Perceptor had reached the end of the road. There was no possible way he would be able to adapt the existing Autobot body meshes for flight without first examining the structure of a flight-worthy Decepticon. Autobot exostructures were simply too dense, there must be a secret to Decepticon alloy to make them able to fly.

And it must be different from the structural make-up of flying Autobots such as Skyfire and Powerglide, because they were grounded in their robot modes, while Decepticons were able to take to the air as and when they chose. Even Cosmos, with his inter-stellar distance capabilities and extraordinary fuel efficiency, was unable to leave the ground unless he was in his vehicle form.

It was while he was pondering what to do next that Perceptor found himself missing Starscream suddenly much more than he had been – because if the jet was still there in the Ark, he could have carried out his analysis and furthered his research without a hitch. Now, though, he was left only with half-completed dreams.

Not to mention that finishing the first thruster had been hindered so much because of how distracted he had been. Daydreaming was something he did often, but he usually was happy imagining complex equations to solve or exciting research.

... he did not usually entertain himself with visions of dark lips covering his own...

Which made no sense to him, for, while not being entirely adverse to Starscream's kiss when it had happened, he had certainly not welcomed it. To be longing for it again in retrospect, now that it was denied him... made him a little uncertain of himself, to be sure.

Beachcomber had approached him and asked him if he would be interested in accompanying him on a geological survey. Glad for the distraction, Perceptor had agreed easily. It would be good to take his mind off things and again busy himself in local geography, and Beachcomber was friendly and enthusiastic, and one of the least likely of his comrades to bring up anything awkward, whether by malicious intent or accidental ignorance.

It was easy enough to persuade Prime to let them go; the greatest of the Autobots was understanding of the eagerness of some of his researchers when it came to learning and discovering for themselves, and, though geology was perhaps not the ideal study for wartime, knowledge of it may provide an unforeseen advantage in the future. So permission had been given and preparations underway.

This was the reason that he was curiously filing through data he had previously gathered about various types of Earth formations, sorting out that which was relevant and that which was completely off-topic, getting ready to meet the smaller blue geologist in the bridge of the Ark, and Powerglide and Seaspray had agreed to join the two scientists and provide aerial and naval offensive power.

However, Perceptor was not as excited about this expedition as he would usually be, what with his depression (was it enough to call it depression? Yes, he was mopey, but he still functioned without problem) about the loss of his Decepticon charge. As disagreeable as Starscream could be, Perceptor still somehow thought that he had enjoyed his company, and he wanted it back, oh how desperately he wanted it back!

But that was insane. Starscream was a cruel and heartless sadist, who loved nothing better than to see others writhe in pain before him. He had all but admitted that himself, and his reputation among friend and foe alike corroborated that. He knew that firsthand - Starscream was a terrible genius with an energy whip. Sometimes those old lacerations still twinged, even though there was no physical remant of the scars on his exostructure.

Perceptor never had much time for thinking of dreamy, fleeting things such as romance, not when his heart was stolen away by cold hard facts and proven science... but this time his imagination was running away with him, and he found it most unsettling. He was no psychiatrist, but with his personality the way it was, he felt that, should he ever require a partner, he would want someone to protect him and to cherish him, someone who could offer stability while remaining exciting and captivating.

That was pretty much the epitome of what Starscream was not.

When one thought of the Decepticon air commander, one did not think 'cherish' and 'protect', and one did certainly _not_ associate Starscream with 'stability' in any way.

But he _was_ exciting, and captivating...? Oh, yes, he was most definitely good-looking.

The air commander was perhaps one of the most aesthetically pleasing of any of the Decepticons and beyond compare among the majority of the Autobots – despite that he was one of a series of near-identical models, Thundercracker and Skywarp being almost clones of his and thus sharing his physical features, they simply did not have the refined and distinct way of holding themselves that Starscream did. He held himself like a hero, his arrogance and egotism giving him the confidence to move like a warlord even if he would never become one.

So maybe that was why Perceptor felt... like this. Perhaps he secretly desired the wild and unpredictable pleasures that could await him at the hands of the skilful seeker. Ha, he surprised himself with that possible streak of kink that he had uncovered, but, heh, everyone had to have at least one unusual, unexpected trait. It made life varied and interesting and fun.

Yes, the microscope was left in a truly confusing antithesis of moods when he finally joined the small exploration party in the mouth of the entrance tunnel, arming himself with a laser blaster, as hand-held guns were more manoeuvrable than his shoulder-mounted light cannon.

"Hey, Perceptor!" Rumbled Beachcomber casually, leaning against the wall, Powerglide and Seaspray milling about him. "You ready t'go?"

Datapads, yes, thermo-surveillance devices, yes... Was there anything he'd forgotten?

... only his mind, and his sanity along with it, if his analysis about his thoughts regarding Starscream was anything near correct.

"Yes, I'm ready," he answered with a smile, inviting the smaller robots to lead the way, "let's go."

O

Oh, this couldn't _be_ more perfect! Starscream smirked in wicked, devilish anticipation as he observed the enemy party from his hidden vantage point atop the cliff; four Autobots on the beach far below and none of them particularly able warriors, his raiding party would have no problems at all.

Seaspray? Unbeatable on the water, but limited in all other environments, and even naval expertise would fail against the agility of a seeker. Powerglide? He overestimated himself, and, while he was an aerial acrobatic master, he had nothing compared to the firepower and the speed of the Decepticon jets. Beachcomber? A pacifist coward, he would sooner be off making romantic overtures to a rock than fighting his enemies. No real threat.

And that left Perceptor...

Perfect! _Perfect_! Take the three worthless piles of scrap out of commission and then he would be free to do whatever he wanted with that microscope...!

The air commander chanced a sideways glance at his squadron, a sinking feeling in his spark as he saw Thundercracker and remembered his subordinate's words... '_you've just given them permission to treat him like some sort of... to treat him like you treated him! Is that really all right with you?'_

No. That certainly was _not_ all right with him. Rather predictably, he was extremely possessive, and they would _never_ sully his beautiful tool with their dirty touch.

Thundercracker had a conscience and believed in monogamy. He was entirely, calmly loyal to Skywarp. There was no need to worry about his attempting anything obscene with the innocent scientist.

And what of the other two members of his strike force? Skywarp? He was, surprisingly, pretty loyal to Thundercracker, though it was probably not above him to engage in having some fun every now and then. What about Dirge? Hmm, he was somewhat of an unknown, but Starscream did not trust easily and he certainly didn't trust the quietly murderous blue jet to not take advantage of a situation.

Authority needed, because he couldn't risk damage to what was his.

"Maim and destroy," he hissed, sweeping his sky-blue hand towards the oblivious quartet of Autobots, "but do not touch Perceptor. He's _my_ kill. Anyone who even fires at him will answer to _me_. Now move out."

His command was greeted by a low grumble of acquiescence from his warriors as they transformed into their jet modes and, as subtly as possible, moved to attack the oblivious scientists who had stumbled unwittingly into their territory.

Starscream held his position as his jets began their assault on the Autobot survey party, listening contentedly to the yelling and the screaming, the piercing sound of laser fire and the acrid smell of burning alloy exostructure.

He brought his head up over the rocks again, watching Perceptor – how tense he was, coiled and ready to strike! Starscream shivered in anticipation, seeing the microscope fighting was, all of a sudden, inexplicably _sexy_ – watching Perceptor firing off shots desperately, trying to chase the offensive away from his friends, though he had apparently not noticed that not a single of the three seekers was targeting him specifically.

Preparations... Hanh, he had very little time to work out what he was going to do! Perceptor's appearance while he had his force on patrol had been completely unexpected, and he hadn't had time to plan anything at all. Hmm... what to do, this was his chance, this was his _chance_ to get Perceptor securely in his net...

Wait... write it onto a disc, that was infallible, if it had worked with his memories then it could work with his message...

Heh heh, it seemed that Perceptor's amazing two-thousand-mile accuracy was not so brilliant when he was faced with moving targets, the jet noticed absently as he downloaded his message. Starscream put that on his mental 'To Mock' list.

Finally, the commander made his move in the heat of the fighting when he was least likely to be noticed by any of the Autobots. Staying in his robot form, the Decepticon descended upon the Autobot microscope.

"_Star-_" Gasped Perceptor, falling back as Powerglide was shot from the sky, cut off mid-word as Starscream's hand grasped his throat. The dark mouth came close to the microscope's audio receptors.

"Don't speak. Trust me. Take this, and play it when you're alone..." He whispered, pressing the cobalt hand holding the disc he had prepared into Perceptor's own grey fingers. And he felt those fingers take the disc, and he stared into those widening azure optics with his own red.

And he came dangerously close to forgetting just where he was, catching himself just in time, deciding to compensate for not being able to take exactly what he wanted then and there by living out a part of his endless fantasy, shooting Perceptor with his null ray as soon as the scientist had the disc securely in his grip.

The expression on that white face, the crease of pain as Perceptor fell paralysed to the floor, was elating. He didn't cry out, which was a disappointment, but that taste of what he could have teased Starscream, who ran his glossa over his lips at the thought of what could come next, what could follow... the desire for more.

Starscream stood over the fallen mech, smirking sadistically, for a klik or so before he stared round at his warriors to gauge their successes.

Seaspray? Smoking wreck on the floor. Powerglide? Smoking wreck half-floating in the sea. Beachcomber? Smoking wreck buried in sand. And Perceptor was paralysed for now. Decepticon headcount? Skywarp was sporting a singed wing and Dirge looked as though his afterburner had been on fire, but that was the worst of it.

Total success. Time to pull out.

"Decepticons!" He called, taking to the air with one last lecherous leer at the helpless microscope at his feet, "success! Withdraw and regroup!"

They took to the air. Disappeared on the horizon, destruction in their wake.

Starscream had to keep himself from laughing at the look that had been on Perceptor's face when he had told the Autobot to trust him.

Not that he _blamed _Perceptor for being unsure. As trustworthiness went, he was certainly not the best example. He knew that. He knew Perceptor knew that. In fact, asking Perceptor to trust him, even for the briefest moment, after the rocky relationship they had shared was asking very much indeed.

But he had taken the disc. Whether or not he listened to it – and, Primus, Starscream hoped that he would because he didn't know how much longer he could take obsessing in lust instead of in hatred without his fragile sanity snapping – that he had taken it was a good sign.

The plume of smoke from the damaged Autobots rose into the sky behind them, and Starscream smirked. Soon, soon he would have his toy, his property.

_His_.

Primus, that possessive pronoun had never sounded so _good_.

Because then he could have the real thing instead of a hallucination, and he could have someone else's touch instead of his own, and he wouldn't be going mad with lust and want any longer. Damn Perceptor to the depths of the Pit! Damn how easily he became hooked on something!

Life would be so much simpler if he could go back to hating Megatron instead of chasing Perceptor.

... but, somehow, less fulfilling, less gratifying and so much less exciting, he knew as he circled the rising docking bay with his squadron, returning home with the afterglow of victory burning through his circuits.

As the commander flew into the docking bay to make his report to Megatron on the sea bed far below, Thundercracker watched him suspiciously. The most observant of the members of Starscream's raiding party, his superior's odd behaviour had not escaped his notice.

"What are you up to, Starscream?" He muttered to himself, sonorous voice low, as he, too, landed in the docking bay and followed his wing commander to Megatron.


	15. Chapter 15

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 15**

He held Starscream's disc carefully between his grey fingers, his gaze drifting from it to the blank computer screen and back again, debating whether or not to listen to it, or whether it would be saner to just destroy it and pretend he had never had it.

Recovering from the crushing attack on their scientific party had been extremely difficult. Whether or not it had been intended, Starscream's null ray had shorted his communication devices, hindering his calling for help from the Ark. He had taken some time to shake off the paralysis that had locked his limbs after being shot, but he was the only one of his team in any fit state to do anything.

As soon as the immobility had worn off, Perceptor had unearthed Beachcomber from the sand he had been buried in, but it had achieved little. The little geologist was scrapped, his radio very unlikely to be functional if the giant molten hole in his chest was anything to judge by. There was no chance of his regaining conscious and he needed medical attention, but there was little Perceptor could do other than tie off disconnected wires. He hadn't thought to bring surgical implements on a geological survey.

Seaspray, thankfully, had been in a less dire state, and had not had the added complication of sand in his systems. He had come round, injured but riled to kick more Decepticon keister, and had immediately contacted Prime in the Ark to request for help. After having Perceptor tie off his most grievous injuries, the naval tactician had retrieved Powerglide's floating body from the sea before the salt water damaged the plane's exposed circuitry.

Help had come quickly. They had limped back to the Ark. Ratchet had taken Powerglide and Beachcomber, while Wheeljack and Hoist had been able to fix Seaspray's less critical problems.

Back with his tools, Perceptor had reassured his comrades that he was more than capable of repairing his radio, and, apart from that shot from the null ray, he hadn't suffered any damage. Which was the truth.

And it also had the result of his being alone again, so he could study what Starscream had given him.

It seemed to just be a normal data disc, the unsecured sort that mundane, everyday non-important information was sometimes backed up on. They were easily hacked, so they had been used less and less over the course of the war. Other than that, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary with it. But his analytical mind was hindered in trying to draw any other conclusions because of the disbelieving mantra that coursed through his processor.

Starscream is with the Decepticons. _Starscream is with the Decepticons_.

Perhaps it wasn't as it seemed – maybe he had just been forgiven, persuaded back by Megatron, perhaps they'd finally started to appreciate him and realised what an asset he was and removed the death sentence. Perhaps... no, it was too hopeful, too optimistic. Megatron was not the sort to forgive.

He'd lied about being kicked out, hadn't he?

Lied about leaving the Decepticons, so he _had_ been a spy... after all that. What else had he lied about? Had all of those feelings and all of those words been false as well? What about the advance in the mountains? And that kiss...?

No, no, there was nothing to be gained by second-guessing Starscream's actions now. The air commander was an utter enigma; figuring out his motives was something that not even someone of Perceptor's intellect could easily accomplish. Because, even if his words had been nothing more lies, there could be no plausible reason for Megatron to order his lieutenant to seduce an Autobot, and that meant that Starscream had done it for his own... amusement? Fulfilment?

No, _stop_, don't think of it like that. Quick, quick, a distraction was needed...

So what about the disc? More lies? Should he even watch it if Starscream could not be trusted?

Well, maybe he should. Starscream had possibly risked being branded a traitor by not killing the scientist when his team of jets had damaged the survey group so badly, unless he had been working on orders from his master Megatron, so he must really want Perceptor to get whatever message was on the data storage device.

Not without apprehension, Perceptor inserted the disc into his main computer, staring at the screen as it displayed nothing for the time it took to download. Then a wave reminiscent of the display on an oscilloscope appeared on the screen, irregular and scratchy.

Brain wave impressions?

Hurriedly the microscope connected a translation program and transcribed the waves into sound information, which came quietly through the speakers either side of the main monitor.

"Meet me tonight at the place we fought today. Come alone. Tell no one."

Starscream's voice, both commanding and imploring, coming through the speakers. No mistaking it, and that was all it said – the rest of the disc was a blank, holding nothing.

A call to a private rendezvous? It had to be a trap. There was no way he could go. That attack had been just outside of the Ark's primary security range, and so he would be vulnerable. Starscream was probably organising a group of Decepticons to kill him or shanghai him as soon as he agreed to this meeting.

But then again, that made no sense. He had no information of any real worth, not that Megatron couldn't have pulled out of him by force back when he was being interrogated. And if they had really wanted him dead, they had had plenty of chances – why would Starscream go to the bother of organising a midnight murder when he could simply have shot Perceptor through when he had had the scientist at his mercy earlier? So, as strange as it seemed, this meeting might actually be legitimate?

What the -

No, that was impossible!

What could Starscream want with Perceptor? Unless Ratchet's suppression had failed or was too weak for the jet's strength of will, he should have forgotten everything that happened between the two of them. So he should have no reason to call the scientist out for a private meeting. All he should remember of his time in the Ark was his waking after being fixed by Perceptor, and, after how coldly he had treated the microscope after the memory wipe, the only conclusion to be drawn was that the reformatting of the recall chips had worked.

It made no sense at all, should he go?

And part of Perceptor wanted to. He wanted to, he really did. He had been missing Starscream more than he had been admitting to himself, and the thought that he would be able to once again converse with his Decepticon friend was extremely tempting. But Starscream was a Decepticon, a liar, and he had to have some sort of ulterior motive.

It was too risky.

Or was it? There was something he had forgotten, wasn't there? Another factor that almost guaranteed his safety, no matter what Starscream's ultimate goal was.

Perceptor had never removed the bomb that he had previously planted in the larger robot as a security measure, had he? In his absent-mindedness, he had forgotten all about it; the excitement and sadness of Starscream having his memory reformatted and leaving had quite driven it from his mind.

So then, there was nothing to worry about! The bomb was small and powerful, and carefully wired into Starscream's body, hidden beneath the plating just above his red pelvic gimbal to the left hand side. There was no way that the seeker would have thought to check there and remove it, which meant that it was surely still there.

If Starscream tried anything... _weird_, well, Perceptor always had that bomb to ensure his own safety – even if the thought of taking the life of a sentient being sickened him.

But to go out to meet a Decepticon? Alone? Without telling anyone? That went against protocol in so many ways that it was bordering on, if not entirely, a brig-worthy offence. He could be court-martialed for it. It reeked of treason in every way. It was insanity. Impossible. Not worth it.

He wouldn't go. He wouldn't go to meet this traitor of traitors, this manipulator of manipulators, this heartless fiend of a Decepticon.

O

Soft was the rhythmic lapping of the waves on the pale sand of the beach, the water cresting, the foamy tide ebbing and the breaking of the water, crashing in a hiss of tiny white bubbles. The ripples distorted the reflection of the moon, crescent in the sky and ever-changing on the surface of the ocean. There was no wind but the sea breeze, salty and fresh, and the stillness was hypnotic.

Perceptor moved his weight from one leg to the other and the sand shifted beneath his tread, preventing him from secure footing. The scientist stared out over the horizon, waiting, wondering at the beauty on this organic planet and then let his gaze fall to the flowing water, which shakily reflected his azure-eyed angular white face, disbelieving his own daring.

So much for his self control, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't come out here to have this unlawful meeting with the Decepticon who had both ruined his life and, somehow, pieced it back together – and yet, here he was, striding back and forth, pausing every now and again to watch the playful swells wetting his feet.

He shouldn't be here. He could be killed, he would be punished if any Autobot noticed he had gone and if Starscream betrayed him again and set the Decepticons on him, there could be any number of things to go wrong. Had his absence been noticed? Had someone seen him leave the Ark? He must have lost his mind; he should not have come out here. Hopefully the air commander had forgotten to come or was not planning on showing up – then the microscope could leave without guilt and without trouble.

Yet he could not deny that the sense of wrongness about it all was so... _exhilarating_. While his adrenal pumps were working full power, he was twitchy and agitated but, at the same time, excited and anticipatory. And, as much as he wanted Starscream to not show up, he was eagerly awaiting the high-pitched voice to call to him.

He'd been here for about half a cycle and there was no sign of any coming seeker. Perhaps it had been a joke and Starscream had never intended to show up? And yet when something tugged at his spark, he knew that the jet was on his way, was very close now.

"You came," a scratchy, hoarse voice echoed about the cliff face and hung on the night air, disturbing the calm, almost sultry and approving in its tone, "I'm impressed."

Perceptor felt his circuits burn as the air commander revealed himself from behind a large rock formation at the base of the cliff, the moonlight catching his dull grey limbs and making them glow blue-silver. He coaxed his voice to be strong and unwavering, belying the uncertainty he felt. "Don't mock me, Starscream, I didn't come here to be insulted by you."

Fluidly, the air commander swept up next to his prey. "You've grown a backbone. Good. That means this will be even more fun..." And a rush of air escaped his vents in a sigh that sent shivers through the Autobot's circuitry.

"What do you want with me?" The microscope could not meet the red gaze, instead looking at the jet's wing – and he saw, over the purple Decepticon symbol there, three near-parallel scratches, just enough to thin the alloy skin. He'd caused those, on a clear night under a half moon. Why had Starscream not had them filled in?

Exuding an air of confidence, Starscream idly stroked his thumb across his lower lip, slicking it with lubricants. Perceptor quivered. "Hmm? You even need to ask?"

Hoping that the other robot could not see his trembles, the microscope nodded mutely, encouraging a chuckle from the Decepticon.

"I want to continue what we started."

"Wha-" Perceptor cut himself off, taking a step away from the closeness of the Decepticon. He remembered? Was Ratchet's suppression technique failing, or had Starscream anticipated memory loss and somehow protected himself?

"Don't you remember?" It was a taunting tone, as though the jet could see what was running through Perceptor's mind and was mocking him. A cobalt hand fell onto one of the Autobot's grey shoulders, pressing insistently, and the raspy voice sounded low and seductive next to the scientist's audio receptors. "You were _so_ willing..."

The Autobot slapped that hand from him, feeling a growing wanting welling within him, his self-control fading rapidly away. Had to get rid of Starscream before it was too late. "That's ridiculous! You're insane!"

"Oh?" Perceptor's thrill of apprehensive but excitingly willing uncertainty was... unbelievably _sexy_. Starscream wanted. _Now_.

"W-we started _nothing_!"

"Oh no?" Lightning fast, Starscream caught Perceptor's hand, manipulating it so that he was pressing three fingers into the grooves on his wing over the purple insignia. They fit perfectly, and the air commander himself shuddered at the shocks that coursed through his receptive systems at even that simple touch. "If we started nothing, how did those get there?" Smirk.

He could have been scared, he could have been nervous, he could have been very many things. Days later, he would wonder why he had chosen to be brave and imitative, and he would come to the conclusion that, since joining himself with Starscream, he had begun to pick up some of the air commander's habits passively, without even realising at first, and they influenced him to behave in ways he would not associate with himself.

Which is why Perceptor, instead of snatching away as once he may have done, tensed his fingers slowly, digging them in to the scratch marks.

The result was instantaneous. Starscream was, all of a sudden, limp and trembling in his hands, a most intriguing breathy whimper falling from his vocaliser. Lust flashed in his optics and both hands slammed onto Perceptor's arms, clenching tight. And the microscope knew then that he had just crossed a line; while before Starscream had had control over himself, now he was driving further into a frenzy of wanting, and he may not be able to take no for an answer.

And, surprisingly enough, Perceptor didn't mind. In fact, it threw him back to when Starscream had requested those touches on his wings, and, this time, the microscope had no qualms about doing it. Because he had missed Starscream, truth be told, he had missed the air commander burningly, all-consumingly, and now, at last, he didn't have to miss any longer.

This was wrong, this was wrong, this was _wrong_... and yet so_ right_.

The next thing that Perceptor knew, he had hit the sandy ground with a splash, a wave crashing at his torso and breaking, froth and sea foam washing over the red plating; Starscream had pushed him down, the dark face alive with lust, the glossa running along the lip components, slick with lubricating oils.

Perceptor had a feeling that he was about to discover what it was like to be ravished.

Question was, did he want to stop it, or was it what he had wanted all this time? And what about the consequences? An Autobot, mated with a Decepticon? It was unthinkable, unheard of, unlawful, unholy... _unique_, though, no question about that.

Something that no one else had thought to try?

Suddenly thinking was impossible as Starscream began to relive the tantalising fantasies that had been haunting his processor, trailing his lips and fingers wherever he pleased over the scientist's chassis, up to the shoulder to gently release the catches that held the light cannon in place, dropping it with a thud in the shallows, back down to toy with the turquoise plating.

All notions of possible resistance disappeared in a flash as Perceptor came to his own senses and decided that, yes, he did want this to happen, he did want Starscream's fingers over him like this. Primus above. He was caught up in the moment. He was swept away in a relentless tide of sensations that were stronger than he could have expected and, what was more, he felt the seeker's arousal within his chest, a delicious seasoning over his own growing desire.

Starscream was _good_ at this; his touch teased Perceptor's circuits, building a wonderful pressure within him, as the blue fingers stroked over the scientist's thighs.

"Wings..." Choked the seeker, arching as he deftly brought himself over the Autobot, bringing their hip gimbals crunching together. His scarlet optics were flickering from dim, smouldering crimson to inky nothing. "_Wings_..!"

Understanding, Perceptor reached up hazily and ran his own hands over the sheets of metal of Starscream's back, caressing the outlines of the Decepticon insignia either side. The stretching of his arms upwards brought his chest closer to Starscream's cockpit; his spark ached for a bond.

And, as soon as he began to stroke the seeker's wings, he felt, faint and diluted but still undeniably real, a new intoxicating pleasure filtering into his being, and he realised why Starscream was already so incoherent – who knew that the connection between them would work for coital bliss as well as strong emotions? A d-disco – _mmm_ – discovery indeed. It must be the closeness, affecting them so...

Inhibitions gone as new, unsuppressed lust bubbled in his core, the microscope struggled to regain control of his voice. "St-Star_ssscreeam_," he panted, twitching uncontrollably, barely even having the strength to keep his arms up to reach the wings of the Decepticon above him, "let's... _let's_..."

His weak, gasping voice was swallowed by Starscream's dark mouth as it captured his in a fierce and dominating kiss, hot and consuming, given almost as a reward for his request – no, his demand -

For Starscream had achieved his desire; Perceptor was even _asking_ to be claimed. It was just as he had imagined, dreamed, hoped... no, it was _better_, for in none of his fantasies had Perceptor been so _willing_...

Primus, and in none of his fantasies had he been able to feel, slow and sluggish but there all the same, exactly what he was doing to his prey... he could never have imagined that, but, by the primary program, it was so _amazing_...

A most thrilling thought struck the seeker, driving him further towards the edge, almost tipping him over; he could _use_ this new development – it must only work with the closeness like this, for he hadn't felt it when he had touched the microscope in the mountains – he could use this knowledge and pleasure himself, touch himself and watch the scientist descend into a quivering, whimpering mess without having a finger laid on him...

He fumbled with both hands, one at his own cockpit and the other with the panel on his partner's chest, persevering until both of their sparks were exposed, pulsing rhythmically, ever-changing, and illuminated bright, blinding blue-white.

With an incomprehensible grunt, the Decepticon officer lowered his fuselage so that their essences merged again in a new bond, and it was quite unlike their previous two – even their last mutual joining had not been so full of electric jolts, singing and steamy.

It was as though, after three times of trying, they had finally got it right.

But Starscream was still not satisfied, even as he released a surge of energy into his remarkably quiescent bondmate, who jerked in a perfect and tempting arch of submission; the red-coloured microscope still was not as vocal as the air commander would like, it was somewhat of a disappointment.

The spray of the sea crashed into the two writhing Cybertronians as Starscream ground himself into his smaller mate, hissing his wants. "Louder, _louder_...!"

"What?" Gasped the helpless microscope beneath him.

"My _name_," so close, so close, just a little further – just hearing Perceptor's voice would – Starscream suddenly became much more desperate, "scream it, _scream it_!"

As he was demanding a vocal response, the air commander was trailing his fingers between the two of them, over the microscope's pelvic plating, down over the inside of his turquoise upper thigh.

Perceptor let himself go. Holding control over his body was too much of a hassle now, with the impulses rocketing through his systems. He couldn't even keep his optics online. "Ohhh, _yeeeesss_, Star_scream_!"

That cry, passionate and submissive, was enough to send the Decepticon straight into overload and he screeched for the world to hear. He jerked back, tensed up, and the surges of energy that emanated from his core pulsed straight into his smaller bondmate. Perceptor shrieked again as he joined his mate in unimaginable ecstatic throes.

When the aftershocks faded away, several kliks later, the two of them were lying entwined in the shallows of the sea, which licked at their limbs soothingly. The water steamed as it washed over them.

Limbs leaden, the scientist felt as though part of neural circuitry had shorted. Thinking was hard. Moving was harder.

There was a humming that he noticed in the background of his audios, and it took him a moment to recognise it has the noise from his vents – and Starscream's too – as they whirred to cool their burning bodies.

"You're _mine_ now." The seeker regained ahold of himself remarkably quickly – lots of practise, perhaps?, his voice cold as ice and hard as steel. But that was not mirrored by his actions as he gathered up the scientist to his chest, holding him close. Dark lips cherished a pale cheek.

Perceptor didn't have the energy to fight or resist, but he didn't need to; the embrace was unexpectedly comfortable.

His sluggish mind could still dredge up curiosity to wonder at Starscream. With the seeker's haphephobia, Perceptor hadn't expected him to be much for cuddling, and during their most recent joining the Decepticon had been decidedly dominant – as always he was, he loved to control, he loved to be in charge. But _cuddling_?

... It was nice.

Somehow it soothed and comforted him, chased away the doubts that were beginning to darken his recovering mind about the sanity of what he had just done. Had he... _wanted_ that?

But it felt so good and it didn't seem wrong at all... somehow. Because Starscream was staying. Perhaps if the Decepticon had taken what he wanted and run and left him alone on the beach, Perceptor would feel worse about this. But Starscream had stayed, and that somehow negated all of the bad feelings...

As for Starscream, his only reason for staying and holding the Autobot in such a tender way was that he could feel the happiness welling in the scientist's spark, and thus into his own.

In a way, it was his happiness because he could feel it. Who cared if he was leeching off an Autobot? It made him feel content, so that was worth anything, and he would do this as many times as he needed because, as he would gladly (and repeatedly) tell anyone who asked, _he_ was the most important thing in the universe. No matter if anyone else got hurt on his journey to satisfaction.

Plus... Perceptor's face after an overload... was the sweetest thing he could have imagined. If he thought the Autobot looked naïve before, that was nothing compared to how he seemed now. He met his mate's lips with his own, coaxing a lazy response, before rolled from the other robot, rather awkwardly as he was impaired by his wings, to lie by his side.

Another wave broke over them. The sand beneath them shifted and they sank further. Perceptor willed his conscience away, not wanting to face rationality and reason just yet, pressing himself further into Starscream's chassis to distract himself.

Sadly, fate conspired against him. A single lonely cloud, large and wispy at the edges, drifted in front of the moon, partially blocking the thin crescent sliver of silver light. By coincidence, the mist had formed into a shape vaguely reminiscent of a Cybertronian shuttle, blocky and geometric. Starscream saw it and it jolted him unpleasantly into a myriad of his current position and faded memories from aeons past. He pulled away from the other robot, suddenly closing in on himself at the abstract image of Skyfire drifting across the sky.

Perceptor forced himself into a sitting position as Starscream tugged himself right away, a blank and closed-off expression passing his grey face, optics dimming somewhat.

"I'm going." He snapped at length, rising to leave, no longer in the mood to stay with his Autobot toy; even with Perceptor's contentment seeping into him, the throwback to days past had irritated him and he wanted to calm down alone.

However, Peceptor grabbed his arm before he could transform or take off, holding the seeker down in a surprising show of strength.

"No. Look, I... I agreed to go through with this, and you owe it to me not to just fly away whenever the mood takes you. Relationships work both ways." He sounded, he was sure, braver than he felt. "Or, if you really want to leave, then I'll forget that this ever happened and I'll ignore it if you ever try to initiate it again."

Starscream looked over his smaller bondmate with aggravation, tense and ready to leave as soon as his arm was released... before he shrugged and sat back in the shallows of the sea, sweeping sand from his shins, aloof and distant.

As for the Autobot, now that Starscream was disassociating himself as though nothing had happened, he was beginning to have second thoughts about what he had just done; hindsight was seeking to undermine and destroy his rationality. Had it been a good idea? He had been so caught up – it had just happened – he hadn't meant to -

But it had been so _good_...

Perhaps he should forget it had happened. Ask Ratchet to -

No! No, no more running away! He was an Autobot, he was _brave_, he could deal with his own problems. Starscream was... bearable. More than bearable. In fact... Perceptor was quite glad that it was the seeker who had chosen to do this to him, for he had been missing Starscream when he was gone, and those blue fingers _were_ talented...

... He would have to do something about the seeker's anti-social mood swings though, otherwise he would just keep doubting himself, and that was something he could do without.


	16. Chapter 16

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 16**

The air commander was sullen, glancing this way and that, tense in all his limbs and apparently not at all comfortable with remaining on the beach with the Autobot he had just claimed as his. Perceptor could not understand it. Just moments ago, the Decepticon had been basking in the afterglow of their joining and had even been holding the smaller Autobot to him in a gesture both comforting and possessive, but now he was as closed off as ever he was... and what could have triggered it?

It couldn't continue like this. Perceptor was second-guessing himself enough without Starscream's abrupt and unpredictable mood swings complicating matters; he had to at least understand why the jet became so solitary and defensive.

"Starscream?" He ventured hesitantly, shifting towards his partner. While there was no vocal response, the seeker at least turned his head towards Perceptor, which is perhaps more than he would have graced the scientist with previously. Swallowing down his apprehension, Perceptor reached towards his bondmate with one hand. "What's... what's wrong?"

Starscream growled. "That's none of your business."

"Yes it _is_." Insisted the Autobot, moving closer again, gathering up his discarded light cannon with one hand and beginning the process of reattaching it to his shoulder. "You've _made _it my business by involving me this much."

"You involved yourself!"

"And I want to stay involved," he said truthfully, speaking his feelings as he uncovered them, "so, please, tell me what the problem is."

Irritably, the seeker glared at his mate. "_You're_ the problem."

Whatever answer, whatever potentially harsh retort or denial that Perceptor had expected, it certainly hadn't been that one. "Me? I -" He was interrupted as Starscream, being uncharacteristically open about himself for reasons he couldn't discern, carried on explaining himself.

"You're too much like Skyfire. I see him everywhere when I'm around you." His scarlet optics narrowed, disgust rich in his high voice. "I hate him almost as much as I hate Megatron."

And Perceptor stared. Once again, he was being granted a disturbing insight into Starscream's psyche – hate-filled and isolated, never forgetting and never forgiving. He was not a psychiatrist, but, even so, it was barely half a wonder that the jet was so unbalanced.

"I'm not Skyfire." Was all he could think to say.

For a long klik, there was no reaction from the seeker, who just sat there and blankly watched the waves lapping at his thrusters. Unnerved at the silence, Perceptor could not help filling it in – a particularly unshakeable bad habit of his.

"I mean, don't look at me and see him. That's not fair on me. Let's make this work both ways, I'm willing if you are – I mean -" He broke off, confusing himself with his unconsidered babbling, and it was then, at last, that Starscream responded, curt and dismissive.

"Shut up." Another wave broke across his legs. "You talk too much."

Without warning, and before Perceptor could manage anything but to open his mouth, a blue hand snapped out and grabbed Perceptor's white chin in a deceptively tight grip between thumb and forefinger. "Do not assume I am stupid." Starscream brought his snarling dark face in close. "Do not assume I am weak." His scarlet gaze pierced azure optics. "Do not assume I can be 'fixed'."

"I'm not -" The scientist tried, but Starscream used the most effective silencing technique at his disposal, fiercely claiming the Autobot's pale lips with his own deep grey, coaxing a hesitant, uncertain response from his surprised partner.

When he pulled away, his voice was just as harsh as it had been before. "_You_ belong to _me_. Do not assume that that works in reverse."

"Now hold on just a moment!" Perceptor pulled away indignantly, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Don't – How dare you – I – After all I'm risking for this, all I'm putting on the line for _you_, I'm still just a toy to you? If that's the case, then why me? Why not go after someone else, or one of your Decepticon subordinates! I want happiness too, I have a personality, I'm not just going to lie down and let you walk all over me!"

Quite contrary to what the Autobot may have expected, his heated outburst, instead of chastising his Decepticon partner or angering him further, seemed to be encouraging a devious smirk and enticing slight shivers from his fuselage.

"Mmm," the seeker licked his lips and then bared his teeth, "it's so much _better_ when they fight back..."

A feral glint played about the red eyes, wicked and undeniable. Once again, the borderline-bipolar mood swing caught Perceptor entirely unaware and leant further evidence to his analysis that Starscream was not completely mentally stable.

But the Autobot's moods were not so easily changed, and he was still feeling the anger that Starscream's proclamation of ownership had instilled in him – and, quite apart from that, he felt that his mate was not really listening to him at all. So when Starscream advanced on him again, insatiable in his desire to taste his microscope, Perceptor pushed him away, trying to ignore the hurt he felt within his chassis. What, was that his or his bondmate's? Did it make a difference?

The silence was deafening. He sought to fill it in.

"I mean... well, I, you know, I," the hurt melted his anger into unease and he poked his index fingers together awkwardly, a nervous tic of his, "I _do_ want this to work. It's good to have someone, but, but Starscream, at least treat me like I _matter_."

"Oh, don't _lecture_ me." Grumbled the seeker sulkily. "What a turn off."

Despite that, the tension seemed to have passed. The throwaway dismissive response to Perceptor's indignant self-defence appeared to be the closest he would get either to an acknowledgement or an apology, as it had at least cooled the seeker's lust, and so he decided to let the matter slide; he was still very aware of the fact that Starscream was one of the most dangerous and unpredictable mechs he knew of, and, on top of that, he was a confirmed sadist. It would be better not to aggravate the seeker and risk his own health – for if he detonated that bomb while he was this close, it may damage his own exostructure too.

Anger did not come easily to Perceptor, and, once he _was_ worked up, it left him without a problem. He had never been programmed to be a warrior. A scientist needed patience, not strength and zeal. He could let go of his ire without a second thought and relaxed his taut turquoise limbs.

Suitably burned out after overloading and the subsequent argument, he leaned back on his hands in the swell of the shallows. A strand of straggled kelp tangled about one of his fingers as he tilted his head back to stare at the sky. The clouds were closing in; the crescent moon was now barely visible through the whirling enshrouding blanket.

"I should, um, probably get back. They might be missing me." He mumbled, uncomfortable as he sensed Starscream's eyes probing his body, roving over him. "I shouldn't really be out here, not with you."

"Hmm? Worried about being caught?" The air commander ran his glossa over his lips in a bestial smirk. "Doesn't that fear just make it all the more... _arousing_?"

A tremor shook the scientist as Starscream reached towards him and caressed his thigh. "You're insatiable! Stop it, I'm exhausted." He caught the blue hand in his.

To his surprise, the seeker did not pull it away, and even closed his fingers about Perceptor's grey – just content to hold it. Later, Starscream would swear to himself that he had only done it to feel the thrill of felicity run through him from his calmer mate; the Autobot emotions so alien to him were addictive, and, the more he tasted, the more he wanted.

Yet even Starscream had to admit that it would be saner for him to return to his own headquarters, instead of risking being punished for being out without Megatron's express permission. As much as he hated to leave his newly-conquered territory, self-preservation had always been his priority.

However, after the trouble he had gone to trying to win Perceptor over, he was not just going to let it slide after one night of passion. There had to be something more he could do to ensure that the microscope could not even think of escaping his grasp. Think, Starscream! _Think_...!

Ohhh! Perfect! That could work _very_ well indeed, he was such a genius!

"Perceptor," he rasped, and the scientist jerked at the use of his name, "I am leaving. Come here tomorrow at the same time. I will be here."

"Tomorrow? I – I -"

The Decepticon captured his mate's mouth in a fierce and passionate kiss, silencing the pathetic stutters. The way that the microscope almost seemed to melt into him was very satisfying indeed, and who would have known that Autobots were so easy to seduce?

It was a short kiss, and Starscream broke away, transforming and disappearing into the night with a flare of his afterburners before Perceptor could reciprocate in the slightest.

Which left Perceptor alone again, with his circuits burning in a feverish swirling mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty as he rose, the wet metal of his body glinting in the light of the few stars not yet covered up by the encroaching seaside mists.

But Starscream's kisses were so fiery and they made him feel so _alive_.

As he made his solitary way back to the Ark, he pondered his own decisions. Who would have thought that he would have been so open to something like this? Perhaps he had been lonely, just like the Decepticon.

Actually, there may be some truth in that. He was married to his work, to his research and his science, he tended to isolate himself from his fellows, by both choice and circumstance. They tended not to understand his extensive vocabulary (not that he meant to flaunt his intelligence, he just had trouble realising when he was speaking above the understanding of his audience; he tended to assume that everyone was just as clever as he), and many quickly lost patience with his babbling. Sometimes he couldn't understand their interests, and he doubted they could understand his – he had been told that his optics glittered when he was confronted by a complex problem, something he had never observed of any of his comrades.

He had never minded. It had never mattered, because he had found his happiness in his research.

Now, though, now that he had had a taste of what was on offer, he found himself wanting more, and Starscream was offering it freely, and -

It made no sense. Starscream? The Decepticon hated above all others, possibly even Megatron? Had he already forgotten what the air commander was capable of? Yes, it was true that his memories of being held as a Decepticon prisoner were hazy at best – it was probable that the severe treatment had caused his recall centres to glitch irreparably at the time – but he could see, distorted as though through thick filters but clear enough to make out, Starscream's sick excitement at the prospect of torture. How could being in the presence of someone like _that_ make him happy?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not understand it.

And, while not usually one to give up on a problem of such complexity, he decided to stop trying.

What was the sense of trying to analyse himself? This was getting him nowhere, there was no sense, he realised, in trying to apply rationality and clinical reason to a situation purely emotional. It not like him. And... perhaps elements of Starscream's overly-emotional and impulsive personality were leaking into him more than he had expected.

He hadn't made a rational, logically thought-out decision regarding the Decepticon air commander since... since when? He'd just let his spark lead the way. He'd had plenty of time to second-guess himself and doubt and worry... but it hadn't led him wrong yet.

Primus, and Starscream had made his company suddenly that much more enjoyable... mm, just thinking about it gave him the shivers. He wondered if tomorrow would be a long time coming.

O

"Hey," Ratchet ventured to Wheeljack, idly chatting as they worked together on the inventor's newest experiment, "is it just me, or does he look like he's had three energon cubes too many?"

"Hmm?" The masked engineer looked up in the direction that his medic friend was gazing, seeing the red-and-turquoise robot there meandering senselessly with a half-built turbine in one hand and a generator in the other, a small smile glazed on his white face. "You mean Perceptor? Well, yeah, he's kinda been like that since this morning. His circuits are gonna complain when it wears off, I bet – he's gonna have the mother of all hangovers."

"Odd, he's never really been partial to over-energising before. What could have happened, do you think?"

"Prob'ly made some sort of amazin' discovery, you know what he's like."

"Do you think?" Regarding the microscope with a critical sky-blue optic, Ratchet distractedly passed Wheeljack a wrench before bringing one red hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully, unable to help trying to work out what was going through his seemingly-drunken friend's mind as concern filtered through him. "He's always told us about his finds in the past."

"Oh, don't feel left out, you worry too much." Chuckled the other mech, flashing neon as he spoke benevolently. "He'll get round to tellin' us after he's regained coherency, I bet. Now, pass me those forceps."

Ratchet handed over the implement with one last glance at the red-bodied microscope, deciding it would be better to listen to Wheeljack and wait for the drunken euphoria, whatever had caused it, to wear down.

Perceptor himself was cheerfully oblivious to the solicitous muttering of his scientific friends as he disappeared into his own lab with his load, that same dreamy smile plastered over his white face. He was lost in his own glorious world; after a most enjoyable stasis, he had awoken and remembered the promise of another meeting – and, for whatever unfathomable, utterly illogical reason, the warmth bubbled through him and filled him with a most joyful anticipation.

Had he not decided to give up questioning his own actions, he would have been surprised at himself. He wanted this. But he knew there was no point in trying to rationalise his mind. He knew now – science and reasoning had no place in emotion and matters of the spark.

As he began to solder a complex wire mesh into the uncompleted turbine he held, a humming started in his vocaliser, elated and carefree. Optics flashed bright azure as he fixed the last cable in place and sent a charge of energy through the thruster, which powered up obligingly.

Setting the completed afterburner next to the previously finished flight components, Perceptor tilted his head to the side. Once again, the lack of knowledge about aviation bodies was hindering him – perhaps Teletraan could help?

Leaving his lab, he glanced over towards Teletraan. Warriors were going about their business or milling around waiting for an assignment; Ratchet and Wheeljack were working together on whatever new crazy idea the engineer had thought up and Prime was going over a pile of electronic data with Prowl and Jazz flanking him. In all, an average and slow day, and no one would mind him researching on the computer.

Lost in his own world, he pulled up as much information on Decepticon body structure as he could find, poring over it, totally absorbed. He didn't even notice when Ratchet sidled up next to him.

" -tor? Perceptor?"

Hmm, nothing about internal structure yet, but so much fascinating data flickering on the screen -

"Mmm, hmm? Hmm," his audios registered sound and his processor recognised it as speech. Oops, was someone talking to him? "Huh? I'm sorry, did you say something?"

The ambulance-transformer clapped a red hand on the smaller microscope's shoulder, sending a shudder resounding through his chassis to his feet. "Are you all right?"

"Huh? Yes, I'm fine." He didn't need to smile because he already was.

"Only you seem a bit..." Ratchet racked his central processor for the right word. Calling him inebriated seemed a little... blunt. "Preoccupied?"

And socially-inept Perceptor realised that he was not the only one who could see the change in his mood. Whoops, perhaps he should pay more attention to his peers and their reactions to his noticeable facial expressions. "Oh! Hahaha, yes, right, um. I'm just elated that I'm getting somewhere with this project of mine."

"Oh?" The medic's face creased in relief; Wheeljack had been right after all. "What are you researching, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Mm, I'm working out the logistics of flight to see if I can install aviation systems in our warriors."

The white medic scratched his cheek ponderously, interest piqued. "That... might actually work. What progress have you made?"

"Oh, I've successfully manufactured primary propulsion systems designed after the thrusters of the Decepticon jets." He saw Ratchet's face darken slightly with doubt and waved an airy grey hand. "I took notes when I was fixing him."

That made sense. Ratchet let go of his unfounded misgivings. "You're doing well on your own, I see. Well, if you get stuck, let Wheeljack know. He's been rooting around for new things to design."

"Hm, thanks Ratchet." He glanced up at Teletraan's screen again, making a mental list of any interesting or relevant information. "Right, well, I think I've got everything that I need. I'll speak with you later, I need to get back to my work."

And he tilted his head and flicked his hand at his medical friend before disappearing back into his own lab, reminding himself to not display his thoughts so clearly on his face in the future.

O

Late afternoon. He didn't have much time left before his scheduled time to meet on the beach. Glancing this way and that warily, he pushed the door to the medical bay open and went inside. There was no one in there; Primus alone knew where Hook had disappeared to – but this worked to his advantage. He switched the lights on, the gleaming purple surfaces dazzling him after the dim hallway he had been walking in, before crossing to one of the storage cupboards and flinging the door aside, rootling within.

Where was it? Hook was a meticulous perfectionist, almost obsessive-compulsive when it came to disorder in his surgery. He had to have hidden it around here somewhere, amongst the carefully-organised and ordered medical files and surgical implements.

Starscream ripped through the first cabinet fruitlessly; there was no sign of what he was looking for. Cursing quietly and, every now and then sliding a quick look back at the door in case he should be interrupted, he moved to the next cabinet.

Another three of Hook's spotlessly clean cupboards were ransacked before Starscream found the object of his search, and he opened his cockpit, taking the two devices to press them between the throttle and the pilot's chair. He'd be able to install them later – after all, he now knew how they connected to the main circuitry in a Transformer's body...

Lucky his theory about Megatron had been correct. He had known, or at least hoped, that his hated leader would regard any extra component in his body that did not heighten his power as a potentially exploitable weakness. He had been right; thankfully, the silver gun-transformer had lost no time in removing the communicator as soon as it had ceased being useful. Of course, all such gadgets were returned to Hook for improvements and research, and, thank Primus, they hadn't been dismantled for spare parts.

They would be useful later.

"What are you doing?" It was a deep voice from the doorway, and Starscream leapt upright, turning around and knocking a laser from the work surface with his wings in his panic at being discovered, adrenal pumps suddenly kicking into action.

It was Thundercracker, standing in the only entrance to the medical bay, a carefully blank look on his white face. Starscream relaxed; Thundercracker he could deal with, he had been worried that it would have been someone more deviously spiteful and loyal to Megatron. Not that the light blue seeker _wasn't_ loyal, but he certainly wasn't a fanatical zealot to the extent that, say, Soundwave or Skywarp were.

"Since when have you had the authority to question my actions, Thundercracker?" He demanded arrogantly, puffing himself up to his full height and tipping his head back in a sneer.

"Since you came under suspicion of being an Autobot spy, Starscream." A second, grating voice from the doorway – and this one sickeningly familiar.

"Megatron!" Gasped the seeker as his feared leader appeared behind Thundercracker, flanked by the black seeker Skywarp and the triple-changer Blitzwing.

The barrel of the fusion cannon was thrust towards his head. "You are accused of selling information to Autobots. What do you have to say in your defence?"

"Are you _mad_?" Starscream spluttered, close to panicking; how much did Megatron know? If there was any solid evidence of his being in contact with Perceptor without permission, well, he would be a puddle of molten slag very soon.

"Well?" Demanded the silver robot, a smirk crossing his face. Starscream took a step backwards, the back of his wings hitting the work surface.

Think fast, Starscream._Think_.

"Me?" He choked, hoping that Megatron would not call his bluff. "Me, _Starscream_, an Autobot lapdog? You're losing your mind, you outdated son of a glitch!"

Megatron swept across the room towards him so fast that his processors didn't even have time to register it before he was struck hard in the head, staggering to the side and reeling from the blunt impact. He raised a cobalt hand to the fresh wound, riling when he found that it had left a mark, a dent in the side of his perfect helmet.

"Is that Autobot scientist really worth all this?" Growled the gun-transformer fluidly, clearly enjoying this excuse to finally be rid of his troublesome lieutenant without having his other troops questioning their own loyalty to him, savouring the moment. "Is Skyfire really more important than the Decepticons... traitor?"

The jet considered begging for his life; it was not beneath him to do such a thing, not when Megatron was so overbearing and bloodthirsty. And then he registered it -

Megatron had said 'Skyfire'.

Thank Primus, he was safe! Megatron thought he was selling information to that huge white fragger, that meant that the Decepticon commander only had a slight hunch of his treachery rather than any solid evidence. Of course, if Megatron believed that Starscream would willingly return to Skyfire after the punishment he had received when the latter had defected, then he really was losing his mind.

That beating had been possibly the first and only time that Starscream had been reduced to a sobbing, incoherent wreck at his leader's hands, without even the capability to beg for his life – Megatron had been _livid_, beside himself with rage that Skyfire had sold himself to the Autobots after Starscream had vouched for him – there had been a massive potential for Decepticon secrets being lost with the big scientist's defection. At least Skyfire had left before he had been told anything important.

"_Skyfire_?" The air commander breathed, relief painting a smirk on his dark face. "You're still bringing _that_ up? How pathetic, Megatron! Trying to pin your own failures on a dead friendship from the past!" He appealed to the warriors by Megatron's side, slipping easily back into his role at the head of Decepticon politics. "How can you follow a commander who cannot even accept responsibility for his own mistakes!? He may as well hand our battle plans to Prime on a datapad! You have no _style_, Megatron, you don't deserve to lead the Decepticons!"

A high-pitched and grating laugh tore from his vocaliser at his success in turning a seemingly hopeless situation around; not only had he escaped with his life, but he had made Megatron look like a fool in front of loyal soldiers! The adrenal chemicals coursed through his systems, exciting him, making him feel so _alive_...

Starscream savoured his victory, the taste it left in his mouth; for once, he had come out on top, the winner, better than Megatron. After this success would come another, and another... Brilliant. "Well, if you don't have any other crimes to try and pin on me, I'll just be going to carry on with my _real_ work."

He pushed past Megatron and bulled his way through the warriors in the doorway, knowing but not caring that he would probably pay the price for his arrogance later, his euphoria and ecstasy and pulling one over the despised silver robot controlling his actions. He strode with renewed spring in his step.

For once, he recognised that it would be saner to quit while he was ahead. Best to flee headquarters and give Megatron time to calm down rather than risk his neck by hanging around longer than he needed. Skywarp and Blitzwing had both been present, so the tale of his verbal victory would be spread around the entire army in a matter of breems, and that satisfaction tasted better than even the finest-grade energon.

Hurriedly, he sped towards the control room for the docking tower, meaning to disappear early to his rendezvous with the Autobot Perceptor. What he did not expect was his arm to be caught by a dark hand, and he turned to see Thundercracker staring at him, expression unreadable.

"What do you want, Thundercracker?" He demanded curtly, wanting to be away before Megatron came searching for vengeance.

The reasonable, innerly-conflicted Decepticon took a small step closer to his superior, face serious. "I don't like this, Screamer. What's going on?"

"Keh, you think I'll tell you? Get off me!" He snatched his arm from the grip in a nervous reflex – just in case it turned hostile.

"Where are you going now?" Persisted the blue warrior. "The same place you went last night?"

Starscream narrowed his optics, not liking how much Thundercracker knew. "Why do you care?"

"Because I care for the future of this army. Sure, I don't _like_ you, but you're pretty much the epitome of what it means to be a Decepticon. If you're selling us out, then I don't like to think what our chances are."

"I'm not selling the Decepticons out. I am much better than any Autobot lackey could ever be and I have better things to do with my time than tell them battle plans that Megatron has already let slip." He sneered, taking small offence at the accusation that he would allow himself to be ordered around by the weak opposing army.

Thundercracker looked uncertain. "Well, Megatron's pretty certain that you're betraying him, you might want to tread carefully or your life might end sooner than you want it to."

"Leave me alone, it's my life and not yours. Now get lost." Dismissing his subordinate, the Decepticon air commander keyed in the access code for the docking bay, raising it and preparing to disappear for his second meeting with his secret Autobot, the captive of his affections.


	17. Chapter 17

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 17**

At times like these, when there were no pressing missions to be carried out or clean up to be done about the crashed starship, the mess room was almost always crammed full with idle warriors milling about without any real purpose. Ideally, they would be over-energising until they passed out from system malfunction, but Megatron was keeping the energon under strict ration, so recreational activities were severely limited.

Thundercracker found his black-and-lilac wing mate sitting in a corner with the other trio of seekers, deeply involved in a round of a game comparable to the humans' 'poker', though it was played with thin datapads. A scant pile of energon chips, each about the length of the seeker's index finger and only a quarter as thick, was in the middle of the table between the four gamblers.

"Enh… Yeah, I'll match that." Skywarp pushed three more chips into the pile as Thundercracker crossed the room to greet him.

"Raisin' it." Another heap of glowing purple counters were pushed forth by Thrust, which caused the other players to growl and Dirge to stare at his wing leader dolefully, laying his hand face up on the berth.

"I'm out, guys," he rumbled in his careful, deliberate voice, nodding his head to greet the light blue jet, "stakes're too high. I got no more chips left."

Thrust shrugged his maroon shoulders and turned his golden optics expectantly on to Skywarp and Ramjet, both of whom pulled faces but, ultimately, matched his bet with chips of their own.

"Why're you still playing, 'Warp?" Thundercracker asked incidentally, his low, sonorous voice conveying only wicked mischief as he looked over Skywarp's shoulder at the black jet's hand. "I would'a pulled out breems ago with those! There's no way you can win this round."

Skywarp's face creased in mildly affronted indignation as his playmates dissolved into raucous laughter, even Dirge chuckling slowly. "TC! You aint s'pposed to tell 'em that!" He smacked his hand down on the table. "No point me carryin' on this round now!"

"Good." The blue mech straightened up as Skywarp whined his complaint. "You can come over here with me, cause I gotta talk to you."

Ignoring the catcalls of his wing mates, Skywarp shrugged and rose from his place at the berth, following the other seeker to a private corner of the large mess room, settling himself at ease onto one of the large metal seats there. "Primus, TC, what a drag. What's up?"

"It's Starscream." Thundercracker answered as he lowered himself onto his own chair.

Skywarp snorted in disgust. "Screamer? You dragged me away to tell me about _Screamer_? Bo-ring! I see the guy every orn, why do I wanna waste my rec' time talking about him too?"

"I think he's betraying us."

For about half a klik, there was utter silence between the two bondmates and then Skywarp smirked and tilted his head to the side. "You worry too much." A chuckle escaped his vocaliser and he kicked his ankle up on to rest on his knee casually. "Betrayin' Megatron? Sure, no big deal, happens all the time 'cause some moron thinks he'd be a better leader. Betrayin' the Decepticons? No way. Screamer doesn't have the cast-iron components for anythin' like that."

"I'm_ serious_, 'Warp." Resting his head against one of his shoulder vents, Thundercracker let a sigh fall from his mouth, dimming his optics. "I really don't trust him this time."

"Did you ever?" An amused retort.

"No, but there's something going on. Even Megatron thinks he's up to something, you know, what with what happened earlier and all."

"Megatron_ always_ thinks Screamer's up to something, cause he usually _is_. Leave it, it'll all blow over. You know, the usual – attempted coup, he'll get 'is ass handed to him an' then we'll start over."

Thundercracker shook his head; Skywarp was missing the point. "Sure, he goes after Megatron and everyone knows it, but I reckon this is bigger than all that, 'Warp. You saw Megatron earlier, he was really gunning to kill him."

"No loss."

"True, but he's gone off somewhere without permission again, and I really don't like it."

"TC," Skywarp exhaled in exasperation, "listen. You think too much, y'should just not worry about it. Screamer's not stupid enough to risk gettin' caught with an Autobot again, not after what 'appened last time."

The blue jet thought back. "That time with that big white scientist?"

"Yeah." And the black seeker grinned in savage amusement. "I doubt Screamer'll try anythin' like that again. You remember that last time?" There was a grim nod from Thundercracker, but Skywarp ignored it to carry on his gleeful reminiscence. "Megatron was really fragged off, Screamer didn't come back online for almost ten orns, and he wouldn't speak to anyone for groons after that. They were pretty certain he wouldn't ever fly again either."

"Not exactly accurate on that account, were they? He's still the best aerial warrior that the Decepticons have."

"Hold on just a moment!" Came the indignant protest, which Thundercracker cut through carelessly.

"Oh, admit it, 'Warp. I know you don't like the guy, frag it, who does? But you have to admit that he's much faster and more agile than the rest of us."

"Eh, whatever." Skywarp admitted only grudgingly, still somewhat bitter that unashamedly treacherous and belligerently ambitious Starscream had been promoted to command the squadrons of aerial warriors over less able but more loyal and obedient choices, such as himself - though ambition did not eat away at him to the extent it did their wing leader. "Well, anyway. He's not stupid enough to risk that again."

"Mmm..." Thundercracker shrugged. "I don't know, I still don't like this."

"Stop fussin'. You're gettin' worked up over nothin' again, Megatron can handle Screamer no trouble."

Seeing the bored look on his mate's face, Thundercracker conceded defeat and allowed himself to let go of his uncertainty... for now. There was no point in trying to convince someone who was not open to being convinced, and Skywarp, blindly loyal to Megatron, had complete confidence in the silver commander's abilities to deal with the stigma of Starscream. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I probably do worry too much, but then, if I didn't worry, who would?"

"I'd have more fun if you stopped worryin' at all." Purred Skywarp, lounging at ease but glancing longingly back over at the table where Dirge, Thrust and Ramjet had started up a new round of their game. "Besides, if Screamer gets hisself killed then spot for Air Commander'll be open..."

"Primus help us if you ever become Air Commander."

" TC!" Skywarp whined in mock-offence. "You're _s'pposed_ to be supportive of me! C'_moooon_!"

Thundercracker couldn't help smirking at the injured expression on his wing mate's face, shaking his head. "Oh, get over it, 'Warp, you can function without me telling you I love you every step of the way, can't you?"

"No!"

"Skywarp, you want us to deal you in this round?" Thrust called over from the trio of seekers around the table before Thundercracker could think of a witty response.

"Yeah!" Replied the black jet, wiping the hurt look from his face for a moment before turning back and shrugging at Thundercracker with a small but expectant glare. It carried on for about a klik or so, the light blue mech at first thinking that Skywarp was trying to make him feel guilty but then realising that he was required to say something.

"... oh, fine, I'll make it up to you later."

"Is that a promise?" Was demanded suspiciously, Skywarp still not moving towards the gambling group. He could be so childish sometimes, it never failed to amuse his lover.

"Yeah." Grunted the deeper-voiced mech, tilting his head as Skywarp grinned and then disappeared to join back in the game he had been dragged away from. For a while, Thundercracker watched them play, not really in the mood to join, before he disappeared from the room to busy himself with some menial tasks, nagging voices in his head resurfacing the doubts he had about the loyalty and intentions of his own commander.

O

"Oh, Perceptor, could I bother you for a moment?" The red-and-turquoise microscope looked up from his operating table to see who was halloing him. Across the room, poking his head in through the door as unobtrusively as he could, was Skyfire, an apologetic smile lingering on his honest face.

"Hmm? Of course, what's ailing?" The smaller scientist asked with an amiable smile over his own white lips as Skyfire (who had to crouch a little to pass through the threshold to his lab without bashing his head) entered.

"Well," The huge white mech looked a little awkward, "Ratchet's a bit busy and Wheeljack's blown himself up again, so could I trouble you to have a look over my afterburners? They've been rattling a bit, and, well... I can't reach to check them myself."

Without delay, Perceptor cleared a space on the table large enough for Skyfire to sit, waving toward it absently. The larger mech hoisted himself up onto the berth and offered his heel to his red-bodied friend, who took it in one hand and then transformed into his microscope mode for a closer examination.

"Hmm? Is it just one that rattles, or both of them?"

"Just this one."

"Ehhm... Ah! There it is, you've shaken one of the blades loose. Excuse me, this will only take a moment." He morphed back into his robot mode and carefully pressed the blade back into place, whipping his solderer from the table and welding the part in place.

Skyfire winced once at the burning sensation in his heel, revving his flight systems experimentally when Perceptor withdrew and smiling gratefully at the pointed lack of rattle.

"Looks like it wore loose with overuse, when did you last have a maintenance overhaul?" the stand-in medic asked neutrally.

"Um, probably just after I was rescued from the ice."

"Too long by far!"

Looking slightly guilty, the big white explorer shrugged. "I've been so busy with shipments and deliveries to and from all ends of the Earth and further, and when I'm not playing courier I'm ferrying warriors back and forth. I've been doing some runs to Cybertron too, what with Omega being run off his thrusters. I haven't spent any time here for ages."

"Well, I'm forbidding you from flying for another four orns at the very least, otherwise you'll shake that fitting free again. Doctor's orders, I'll inform Optimus when I see him next, all right?" Perceptor tried to sound stern, but he couldn't hold it for all that long, not when his mood was so light; still the thoughts of his coming meeting with Starscream ricocheted about his central processor. "In fact, while I'm at it, I'll run a complete system check, if that's all right?"

"No, no, that's fine, thank you."

Perceptor busied himself, opening a panel in Skyfire's side to check over the circuitry there. The larger scientist was content to watch him quietly, if somewhat awkwardly, at first, but then his curiosity overcame him.

"Is Starscream not with you today?" The mild voice was quiet, as though uncertain as to whether it wanted to speak the question at all.

"Starscream? Gracious, you really _are_ behind!" Perceptor shook his head. "Starscream was sent out of the Ark orns ago. He's out of our custody."

Skyfire's blue eyes widened. "You released him? Doesn't that compromise security a little?"

"Ratchet initiated a memory wipe so that he wouldn't remember anything that happened while being here." He carefully neglected to mention that he didn't think the wipe had been _entirely_ successful, or that the jet had disappeared straight back to the Decepticons from whom he was claiming to be ostracised. He also carefully neglected to mention how secretly _glad_ he was that Starscream remembered so much – especially at the downcast expression that crept onto his colleague's light face. "Are you all right?"

"Hm?" Skyfire glanced down at Perceptor and then shrugged uncomfortably. "I have... been better." He paused for a long while – so long, in fact, that Perceptor thought he had finished speaking and had to check himself and hold back from jumping when the big mech resumed explaining. "It is just that, after all the trouble I went to to speak to him, it's quite... upsetting to know that it was all for nothing."

The microscope thought back as he snapped the panel shut and moved around to Skyfire's back to check the thrusters that made up his scarlet 'backpack' in robotic form. "If I remember rightly, he tried to attack you when you _did_ speak to him."

"Yes," a single nod.

"Surely you didn't have time to get your message across?" His curiosity got the better of him, and, he tried to justify to himself, he could always pass on Skyfire's message when he saw Starscream later that evening – not that Skyfire could know that, of course. "What were you trying to tell him? If you don't mind my asking, that is..."

"Oh, it doesn't matter now." The large white geologist waved a heavy hand, shifting on the table to a more convenient position as Perceptor closed the panel on his back and moved around to check his chest vents. He watched as his smaller friend took a welding iron to another loose fitting, the acrid smell of molten metals tingling in his olfactory sensors. "I was hoping that if I apologised to him for not living up to my word, he would tell me why he has changed so much."

"Changed?" So often, he found that his talkative personality was somewhat catching; so often people tended to talk more when they were in his company, though whether the reason was to stop his own incessant babbling or just because he was easy to speak to he was unsure. It helped that Skyfire was naturally quite chatty and welcoming anyway, he offered answers to this surely-unexpected interrogation quite freely.

"Yes – I knew him before the war, you know."

"Was he that different?"

Skyfire did look a bit uncomfortable, though Perceptor didn't need to ponder why. Talking like this about a Decepticon as hated as Starscream was among the Autobots would be nothing less than awkward, especially to a somewhat indrawn and introverted bot like the shuttle.

"He was always a bully, but he was never so cruel and savage when I knew him. He was just a brilliant mind with such a burning thirst to prove himself."

"Prove himself?" Now that was interesting.

A slightly nostalgic smile lingered about Skyfire's mouth. "He was obsessed with proving himself as something more than everyone else. He wanted people to notice him." Seeing the curious look on Perceptor's white face, the geologist continued. "And he used to snap at anyone that referred to him as a seeker."

"Hm?" By now, he was entertaining a vague idea of learning more about the way Starscream worked from Skyfire – if he could understand the Decepticon warrior, then the likelihood of offending him and being walked out on diminished significantly. "Why?"

"Well," and Skyfire didn't at all seem to mind telling Perceptor about the Starscream of once upon a time, "he used to hate anyone thinking of him as 'just another model'. You know how many of the seeker models they churned out, he used to tell me that he felt mass-produced and that no one ever saw _him_, they just saw another tetrajet."

Suddenly, a significant portion of Starscream's personality was explained away. The unsubtle attempts on Megatron's life, the screeching and drawing attention onto himself in the midst of battle, his egomania and constant praising references to himself, his insatiable ambition for greatness and power – all of it likely spawned from his dislike of being viewed as yet another in a long line of clones. All of a sudden, there was method to his madness.

After all, the seekers _had_ been mass-produced. The build was efficient, lending agility and raw power in both jet and robot modes, and there was no point wasting a good design. To Perceptor's knowledge, the only models that had been produced as extensively as the seeker models were either the ground-based robots of build similar to the Decepticon Reflector's component parts or the generic drones that were mindless and expendable. Being a clone... could not work wonders for self-esteem.

Whoops, Skyfire was still talking. Probably a good idea to listen to him. Perceptor shook his head to clear it, moving to check the other pectoral vent.

"He was very good at what he did, but he didn't always seem inspired. Perhaps that's why he chose the path of a warrior instead." The shuttle was saying thoughtfully before he shrugged. "That's about all there is to say, really. I crashed on Earth and when I was brought round, he was changed and no longer interested in us."

Running his glossa over his lips in concentration, Perceptor managed to ask "You were lovers, weren't you?"

"Yes," he sounded slightly surprised, "how did you know?"

"He told me after he beat you away, I demanded to know why he was being so violent." There was a long silence as he tied off a connection in the vent that had broken free. Syfire did not look at ease. "Do you... still love him?"

The response, quiet but firm and without shame, was a long time coming. "No, I do not. I can not bring myself to care so deeply about someone who is as callous about life as Starscream has proved himself to be. Especially after what he did to _you_."

...Ah, here came the embarrassment. The microscope hedged desperately, trying to keep his face carefully blank and failing most spectacularly. "Um, yes, well, I've checked over everything; you'd worked another couple of vent panels loose but other than that, you're fine."

"Thanks, Perceptor. I appreciate it."

"No heavy duty for four orns, that includes flying, I don't want you shaking that thruster blade out of place again." Another thought caught his processor and he found himself checking his chronometer. Hmm, he'd best set off for his rendezvous now if he didn't want to risk being late. "I do hate to hurry you, but I am rather busy, um..."

"Oh, don't worry about it." Skyfire ducked out of the door again, muttering something about needing taller fixtures. "Thanks for the overhaul, I'll pay you back some time."

"Don't let it bother you, it's my job, after all."

No more words were said, Skyfire disappearing to busy himself with whatever. Perceptor waited a couple of kliks to make sure that he was well and truly gone before cleaning away his fragile devices and spindly implements, wanting to make sure his lab was clean before he, too, left the room, ready to set off to his anticipated meeting with the Decepticon air commander.

O

Chased from his headquarters much sooner than he had expected, Starscream had arrived at the secluded beach cycles earlier than he would have wanted. Bored and with no means of contacting his Autobot pet and demanding his immediate arrival, he had been left to do nothing but think and shoot at any inquisitive seaside fauna half-heartedly. Dotted about the sandy landscape were smoking carcasses of semi-incinerated seagulls; near the jet's feet a dead crab still twitched. The smell of burning meat was rank in the air, mingling with the salty stench of kelp and brine.

Perhaps it had been a good thing he had had a chance to calm down. He had been so psyched after his close brush with Megatron and death that, if he had seen his partner straight away, he would probably have lost all control too fast. At least he had had time to reign himself in.

That talk with Thundercracker had helped, too.

Yes, Thundercracker was a second-guessing weakling not to be trusted, but he had his moments of being helpfully insightful. Whether or not the blue seeker had realised, Starscream had really needed someone to tell him 'look, this is your life and it's ending one breem at a time. _Stop fragging about_!' Thundercracker had done that, put it all in perspective and shaken his few lingering doubts.

Having Perceptor know was now important. He felt as though if he let his microscope know, then they would well and truly be together. Perceptor would have no excuse to attempt an escape. It would be the final link in the chain, and other such clichéd metaphors.

The sun was beginning to set. Perceptor would be here soon, but, for now, the seeker was content to enjoy the silence that was marred only by the waves lapping at the pale sand and lose himself in his own thoughts.

He had long ago decided that trying to analyse his own actions was often a complete waste of time. Being completely mentally stable was just something that happened to other people – and, of course, he was impulsive and didn't often think about what he did. Consequences were dealt with when they arose. He frequently found himself in over his head because he didn't stop to consider the possible results of his decisions.

Usually he took what he wanted without caring about the wants of others. Only twice had he wanted something for someone else – the first, of course, was Skyfire, whom he had loved (even though he now told himself that the entire notion of love was nothing but a lie) and now Perceptor. And that confused him.

His personality was not that easily associated with altruism and caring. Neither of those came easily to him, and certainly not as easily as hatred.

Obsessive was a good word to describe him, and so was hateful. For as long as he could remember, he'd had something to despise. At first it was his name, which he had always found ridiculous rather than fear-inspiring, and the fact that he was just another generic, mass-produced flighted Transformer. How he had fought to overcome that handicap, to dispell that stereotype of being nothing but an expendable, replacable grunt, rising to positions of high regard first in science and then in war, now commander of the air and even one of Megatron's sub-commanders in the Decepticons.

Then his vocal emulator had glitched irreparably and destroyed his voice (he'd lied to Perceptor about taking shrapnel to the throat; the fritz had been the result of a minor explosion caused by his own negligence in the lab he and Skyfire shared on Cybertron. How degrading). He had hated that he screeched and rasped, though not enough to get his vocaliser changed - that would be too much like admitting defeat and changing who he was. Skyfire? He had thought he had hated Skyfire at first, though he had been so wrong. Then the Decepticons and, more accurately, Megatron had been a convenient outlet for his strength of emotion after Skyfire had disappeared.

And now Perceptor had come, and he had thought he had lusted after the microscope. He still wasn't sure if that was the best way to describe how he felt.

Ah, to the Pit with trying to figure himself out. It was never worth it; action first and facing the results later was as good a path as any.

"Starscream?" A quiet and somewhat tentative voice. The air commander looked around, his blazing scarlet optics fixing on the azure eyes of his bondmate, who was peering at him from beneath the cliff some small distance away. He smirked bestially and swept smoothly over, gliding as gracefully as only a flier could.

By way of greeting, he caught his scientist up in a fierce and dominating kiss, crushing their lips together, refreshing his mark of ownership. Perceptor would not escape him.

"Ow!" The microscope pulled away, energon beading at his lower lip and spilling down his chin in a thin trickle, which he wiped away with one finger. "You _bit_ me!"

The air commander licked his mate's lifeblood from his teeth with another feral grin, offering no apology or explanation – though the shock of pain that shot over Perceptor's face as the thin metal plating of his lip had been pierced had not been as... exhilarating as Starscream had anticipated. Compared to the sweet agony that the Autobot had shown while being tortured -

Now,_ those_ had been arousing expressions. If only the helpless microscope had not turned to face the wall and protect his front; his face contorted with pain had been hidden from Starscream's view. Perhaps some time he would be able to entice that brilliance out again.

Not now, though. Now was not the time for pain.

Perceptor was frowning contemplatively at the purple energon stain on his fingers before shaking his head decisively. "Starscream, no biting please."

Hmm. There went all hopes of the Autobot being a willing masochist. "Whatever. I'll go with that."_ For now_, he added in silence, not at all intending to keep his promise. He saw Perceptor turn blue eyes onto his face, finally getting a clear, uninterrupted look.

"Primus, you're injured!" Before the jet could retaliate or even realise the microscope's intentions, careful grey fingers had raised up to gently touch his dented helmet from where Megatron had struck him in rage. He winced and hissed and pulled away.

"Don't touch it!"

"What happened?" And there was no mocking, there was just concern in that voice.

He sneered. "Megatron happened." Another sneer at the look of alarm on the Autobot microscope's honest pale face. "Stop that, it happens all the time."

"Is it safe for you to be out here with me? What if he catches you?"

"Doing this under Megatron's nose gives me a kick." Snorted the Decepticon airily, waving a hand. "I'll deal with him later. He can't kill me, I'm too valuable." He didn't mention how close to death he had actually been, though, on the other hand, he was still confident of his ability to worm himself out of trouble somehow.

The next thing he knew, Perceptor's fingers were again exploring the wound on his head, the scientist's spare hand was holding the other side of his helmet in place, preventing him from pulling away. Surprisingly, though, it didn't hurt him; the microscope was gentle and inquisitive, not malicious or seeking to harm.

"How did he do this?" The Autobot asked quietly, brushing the dent with his fingertips.

"How do you think!?" Snapped the jet irritably. "He smacked me one upside the head, how else would a dent get there?"

"Can't you be more careful?"

"Can't you kill someone?" He knew he was being harsh, but he didn't relish the idea of changing for anyone, no, not even Perceptor.

An awkward silence hung over the two of them before the Autobot shrugged uncertainly and pulled himself away from tending to the injury; there was nothing he could do here, and Starscream was obviously not in the mood to have a medical examination.

"So, um, why did you call me here?" He tried, changing the subject without much subtlety. His question caused the seeker to snort with mirth.

"Why do you think? Honestly, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"...no," he let a smile wash over his pale face, finally confident in his acceptance of Starscream's overtures without doubting himself. Honestly, he liked the sensations, and he could look past everything that the Decepticon entailed and stood for – because he was different when they were alone together, "but could we not do it on the beach this time? I spent a cycle and a half cleaning sand out of my transformation matrices this morning."

"Keh, whatever." Without further conversation, the seeker gathered the smaller Autobot up in his arms and took to the air. Perceptor squeaked in alarm as he was suddenly swept from his feet, clinging on to the other robot, too surprised to fully enjoy the sensation of flight. Starscream laughed at the Autobot's fear.

They landed on top of the cliff and back a bit, where the grey rock was riddled with stray patches of scarce pioneering vegetation. The few grasses that were there were windswept and dry, and there was a thankful lack of sand or small rock particles of any kind. Plus the sun had set over the sea, which was even more visible from the elevated position.

Perceptor took a moment to absorb the beauty of the scenery, doubting that Starscream would appreciate such a thing. He turned his blue optics skyward, seeing Venus shining brightly there. Memories of a past conversation with Bumblebee on some far-away world filtered through his processor.

"Look," he murmured, pointing at the glimmering planet, "the first star of the evening. Want to make a wish?"

It was worth suggesting the Earth superstition just to see the look that plastered over Starscream's dark visage. It looked as though someone had just punched him in the face while showing him something he deemed utterly worthless; the expression of pure, unadulterated disgust was priceless.

"Why the slag would I waste my time doing something as ridiculous as making a wish on a star! Primus almighty, you Autobots, how have you even managed to trouble us as much as you have done!"

"Oh, it's just something that Bumblebee suggested to me some time ago. I believe it's a human tradition."

"How pointless!"

"Yes, I thought so too, when I had nothing to wish for."

He left it at that, not looking at Starscream, not even minding if the seeker had registered what he had been saying.

Apparently, Starscream had understood – or perhaps he was just impatient – because the next thing the microscope knew, those blue fingers were pressing him into the rock, petting all over his body.

Offlining certain connections of his neural processors, not wanting to be thinking too much while this happened, Perceptor tilted his head back and prepared for the Decepticon to claim him again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Until the Dream Ends**

**Chapter 18**

With a frown that betrayed his confusion, Ratchet scanned over his medical records yet again and turned up exactly the same results. It didn't make sense. He had thought that maybe he would be able to find a case of similar processes in past patients, but it was safe to say that this was unique and quite extraordinary.

It didn't make _sense_!

Though it seemed rather cold to admit, he had been fully expecting Perceptor to be psychologically affected after his ordeals. In fact, it had seemed impossible that he wouldn't; his records were bad enough.

But there had been a pointed lack of therapy-seeking visits from the other medic in the deca-cycles that had passed since the incident. At first, the ambulance thought that maybe the other robot was treating_himself_ - but, while he was an apt medic, Perceptor's knowledge of cranial circuitry, of psychological illnesses and their treatments was extremely limited - and carrying out brain surgery on oneself was out of the question, even for mechanical life forms. So that idea was obviously a red herring.

How could this be? If not to the chief medical officer, to whom had Perceptor turned for his counselling? He surely _needed_ counselling after all he had been through. Ratchet checked again over the screen that showed the filed injuries he had repaired on his fellow scientist after retrieving him from the desert.

The red scientist's entire upper body had been covered in lacerations of varying length and severity, singed at the edges and no doubt caused by some sort of energy whip. There had been carbon scoring on his shoulder and waist, the lens of his microscope was shattered, his examination tray was likewise destroyed, and that was only the superficial damage.

He had suffered no less than fourteen ruptured energon veins, five of those in his head and neck, most of them near the pressure points where the epidermal metal was thinnest - his torturer had certainly known where to aim to cause the most excruciating agony. Blunt trauma of whatever description had smashed the infrastructure of around his midriff, leaving a series of lesions that had festered with stale oils. There were irreparable gouges on his spark chamber, and Ratchet didn't even want to consider how those had got there.

In all, the soft-spoken researcher had lost eighty-seven percent of his body's energon reserves by the time he had put out the distress frequency and been rescued; most of his primary functions had suspended or offlined completely.

Ratchet had treated mechs who had died from less. He'd euthanised most of them.

Perceptor's survival was miracle enough, but Ratchet couldn't understand how the other Autobot had managed to escape any form of psychological malady. It should have been a certain affliction after such an experience, it was true of all sentient creatures – the humans even had a name for it: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Yet the microscope had apparently escaped it. _It didn't make sense_! He hadn't even complained of hallucinations while in stasis. He hadn't complained of anything, hadn't showed any symptoms of suffering... he seemed to be the same Perceptor he had been before this whole horrid affair. Not only that, he seemed to be a _happier_ Perceptor than he had been before, and that was the most confusing fact of all!

How had he dealt with it? If Ratchet knew, he could apply the same treatment to any warriors showing similar signs of distress and reminiscence.

Perhaps he had somehow pushed the recollection out of his processors. Perhaps he had repressed his own memory somehow. Perhaps, Ratchet thought to himself, _he_ had suppressed his friend's memories and had somehow forgotten he had done it. The thought made him shudder. This was precisely _why_ he hated the idea of memory wiping.

If not for the hesitance he had over forcing Perceptor to recall that which was best forgotten, Ratchet would ask how he had overcome mental trauma. He was of half a mind to ask anyway. A mech should not just be able to push something like that to the side. Either there was another factor, or Perceptor really _was_ stronger than he ever let on.

Determined to find out what was going on, he poked his head out of his surgery, luckily catching the eye of the very robot he was hoping to talk to. "Jazz, will you come in here for a bit? I want a word."

"Henh? Sure, man, what's up?"

The medic waited until he had checked the door was firmly closed before speaking. As a doctor, he often had to impart terrible news or awkward situations, but despite all his experience, the right words sometimes did not come easily - and besides, it would not do for them to be overheard discussing matters which should remain strictly confidential.

"You're friends with Perceptor, aren't you?"

The visored sub-commander tilted his head inquisitively. "Well, sure, we hang sometimes, but he mostly likes t'keep himself to himself, y'know?"

"Mmm." A noncommittal grunt accompanied by a shrug as the medic found an appropriately clinical way to word his request. "I'm… _concerned_ about the developments in his coping with the aftermath of his injuries." After a brief pause, he continued as a comprehending grimace marred the saboteur's face. "Has he mentioned anything to you about it that he might have forgotten to tell me?"

Immediately, Jazz thought back to what Perceptor had said about Starscream and what the seeker had done. After Perceptor had seemed so awkward, he doubted that Ratchet would have been told. He had a suspicion that he and Prowl were the only two who knew.

But he too had noticed a change in his friend. It was quite bizarre. When they had had that heart-to-heart chat, Perceptor had seemed depressed - as was to be expected - but after the fiasco with Starscream being kept in the Ark, in such a close proximity to his victim, the microscope seemed, rather perversely, happier than ever.

Did this have something to do with that forced bond? Jazz had never heard of a bond being non-consensual before and had no idea of how the mechanics of it would work. Was it possible that that was a factor in the unexpected behaviour?

The likelihood of the doctor being aware of that connection was very slim.

Should he tell Ratchet and break his promise that he wouldn't speak a word about it? If it was for the microscope's own good… but he would be betraying a trust, and that was an unforgivable offence. Who was he to decide what would be best for the other robot? That was Perceptor's choice.

"Nah." The visored Autobot waved a falsely jovial black hand. "I dunno anythin' that he hasn't tol' you. So, was there anythin' else?"

Ratchet shook his head, at a loss about where to turn next, wondering if he should just accept that this case was a psychological anomaly. "No thanks Jazz."

"Right on, I'm gonna go get me some recharge. Later."

As Jazz sidled from the medical bay, Ratchet leaned against the berth and exhaled air from his vents. He didn't _remember_ wiping the microscope's memory.

But then, good for Perceptor! Yes, it fired off warning bells in Ratchet's neural processors, yes it went against every logical conclusion that could possibly be drawn, but if the other Autobot had managed to find happiness, then what good would it do for Ratchet to poke around and jeopardise that?

Unless it was a form of cranial malfunction - though that would make itself obvious somehow if that was the case; usually there were sparks or smoke, such as when poor Red Alert's logic chips had glitched and rocketed him into a wave of even more intense paranoia.

Maybe someone else was affecting the other mech, making him forget…?

Or maybe Perceptor really had worked it out himself. Oh well, time to stop doubting. Ratchet filed the medical record and turned wearily as Sunstreaker slammed into the surgery, sobbing about a scratch on his paintwork.

O

"Agh, gently..." Urged the Autobot as Starscream pressed him down insistently, grazing his back against the bedrock of the cliff top, though he offered no resistance when the air commander opened the panel on his chest. Oddly enough, for as rough as he could be, Starscream's blue fingers were soothingly careful, almost forcing the microscope to be at ease.

A rush of bravery gripped him, and he reached up with both hands, catching Starscream's helmet, though being careful to avoid the vicious dent caused by Megatron, and guiding the Decepticon's head down close for a kiss. He felt his mate tense in his hands and try to pull away, seemingly by instinct, and the smirk on the grey face wavered in an involuntary spasm. It appeared that Starscream's phobia of being touched had not dissipated, not that he had expected it to in such a short time - though it could prove to be troublesome.

After all, Starscream couldn't have _all_ the fun. Perceptor, loathe to admit that he was but an object to the seeker, wanted his share of exploration and control too, and he wasn't going to get that if the jet kept shying away, kept flinching from his grasp. So he persisted, guiding the dark head back down even as the gears in the Decepticon's shoulders locked in taut protest, tightening at the irrational anticipation of retribution that Starscream had come to associate with any sort of contact.

He would have to show his bondmate that not every caress was brutal, then, hopefully, the air commander would become more at ease with the touches and eventually conquer his fear. But for now, Perceptor just tilted his head up to close the gap, brushing their lips together.

The slightly surprised look, followed by the appraising smirk that crossed the grey mouth as Starscream pulled upward afterwards was exhilarating. Perceptor barely had time to shiver before his partner went back to probing his chest.

And then he realised that Starscream was only exploring with one hand; the other held a small metal object, though he couldn't tell what it was from the restricted view he had of it.

"What's that?" He asked suspiciously, bringing one hand up to grip Starscream's forearm. A feral grin crossed the seeker's face and he brought what he was holding up so that the trapped Autobot could see it clearly.

And Perceptor recognised it instantly.

"The pain-numbing device you had installed?" Uh oh. That didn't bode well. Was Starscream plotting some sort of painful interchange?

"Moron." Snerked the jet. "This doesn't numb pain." A wash of heavy relief swamped the Autobot, and Starscream felt it in his chest through the connection. He snorted in amusement, and, before Perceptor could question him, he was explaining. "It's a communicator."

"You sneaky glitch! So _that's_ how information was being leaked!" He tried to feel angry or offended or used, but it was rather hard when Starscream's mouth latched to his neck and the seeker _nuzzled_him. His world melted in a bubbly warmth.

"Hmm, you trusted me?" The Decepticon breathed against the pliable, sensitive metal of his white throat. "Fool."

"Don't, mm, don't insult me. What are you doing with that?"

Starscream stared as his mate as though he was defective. "I'm going to install it in you so that we can keep in touch. I can't keep coming out here every night, Megatron'd have my terminals. If you have this, I can tell you when I expect you to be out here, and no one else will know."

"And I will be able to inform you of when is not a good time for me." Perceptor added pointedly in response to Starscream's utterly self-centred reasoning.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Is it safe for you to meet me at all? I mean, if _I'm_ found out then I'll be punished somehow because I really shouldn't be meeting with _you_ of all the Decepticons I could fraternise with, but if Megatron finds you with me, he'll kill you, won't he?"

"Let him try. I want you and I am going to have you, no matter what that out-dated mechanical mistake thinks."

At the vicious retort, Perceptor found himself nipping at his lower lip worriedly. He was, by now, somehow quite fond of Starscream (to put it mildly), or at least accustomed to having him around, and, no matter how confident the air commander was that he could escape his leader's wrath, the microscope didn't really relish the idea of being responsible for his death.

"Just… be careful, all right?"

The blue fingers carefully installed the communicator into Perceptor's circuitry even while Starscream shrugged dismissively. And the jet ran his glossa over his lips as he grazed fingertips over the golden spark chamber before him, still marred with the scrapes from his first rough invasion – any surgery on the laser core was far too dangerous to attempt, and the scars did not hinder or pain the microscope in any way, so Ratchet had left them there when he had carried out the vital repairs.

Perceptor gasped aloud at that contact, which gave Starscream even more satisfaction. The seeker straddled his prey's waist and began to manipulate the pressure sensors in the Autobot's smaller body. He traced one of the gouges. His finger fit in it perfectly, of course.

An inexplicable haze of regret flooded through the Decepticon's processor, and he stopped dead in his movements, causing the Autobot at his mercy to online dimmed optics curiously.

"You are perhaps the only mech alive who deserves an apology from me." He murmured hoarsely, and Perceptor stared up him blankly before realising that the blue hands were not making random movements but rather tracing old injuries.

"Do you have to bring that up?" An attempt at an airy laugh ended in failure. "I was rather hoping to, you know… move on."

"Oh, get over it, I'm not _going_ to apologise."

"Well, that's a surprise." Commented the Autobot wryly.

"If that slagspawn hadn't made me do that to you, I would never have this chance now," shrugged the jet, tilting his head and gazing down at his pinned partner's melancholy expression before abruptly deciding he was fed up with the heavy atmosphere his spoken considerations had caused. He remedied this by clamping his teeth down on the nape of the scientist's neck.

Perceptor winced and swatted reproachfully at the red hips over his waist. "_Ow_! Primus, Starscream, I said no biting!"

Ignoring the reprimand, Starscream ran his fingers into the scars on the Autobot's spark chamber again, feigning disinterest at the way the other mech arched beneath him. He dug tighter. Perceptor whimpered.

"Show me…" the Decepticon hissed hoarsely, cherishing his scientist's angular jawline with the corner of his mouth, spare hand keeping the other pinned securely beneath him.

Quivering, Perceptor had to make a conscious effort to reign in his wayward thoughts and form a coherent sentence. "Sh-show you what?"

The intensity in Starscream's optics and the repeated smoothing of those fingertips in the scars on his laser core led the microscope to the only conclusion he could draw, and he shied away uncertainly, unsure whether he was comfortable with the idea of sharing with the mech who had tortured him (and _enjoyed_ it) the very memories of it. Why would the jet want to see anyway? His reasons were unfathomable; he was still such an enigma…

"Come on," the raspy voice pressed; he felt his will ebbing away as sure as the tides in the sea below, "show me." Even as he spoke, the Decepticon lieutenant was preparing his own body for a bond. Perceptor could see his dark spark chamber behind the retracting cockpit canopy.

Pinned immobile as he was by the larger robot, the microscope could not prevent Starscream lowering onto him even if he had wanted to. Their was a faint clang as their chests crashed and their sparks combined.

Just as had been the case with their last two mutual bonds, Perceptor could not feel the jet tearing him from within, but he certainly hadn't been this guarded since being a prisoner in the crashed starship beneath the ocean; Starscream's sudden desire to see his memories had put him on edge somewhat, and not in a pleasant way.

His neural nets tensed as though expecting something unpleasant to happen… but it never came, and his subconscious realised that it was not going to come. Slowly, his chassis relaxed again and he let go of his nerves. They melted away, lost in the subspace between the souls of the two, fading to nothing in oblivion.

"Come on." Implored Starscream, his voice almost worryingly gentle - it_sounded_ as though he was about to say 'trust me', though, rather thankfully, he did not. "Let me in…"

The helpless Autobot tried to question why, but his words were choked off as Starscream's optics flared bright, the blue hands moving to manipulate first the circumference of the shoulder-mounted light cannon before gliding down to caress the seams of the examination tray hinge at the microscope's red waist. The quivers gave everything away; Starscream had finally found his partner's sweet spot.

Inhibitions crumbled. Perceptor's memories flooded Starscream's processor.

Although it was memories of emotions rather than of actual events, the overwhelming input was _intense_. Red optics blackened as their power supply failed, shorted out by the unexpected severity of the unadulterated negative feelings; despair, disgust, hopelessness, terror, agony, all of them mixed in a horrific cocktail filtering through the main cranial circuitry of the seeker.

And these were memories that were hazy through both age and recall centres that had glitched at the time.

As though burned, Starscream hurled himself back up off his mate, severing the connection and falling from his position astride the grey pelvic gimbal to land in a heap by the supine mech's side.

"_Frag_," he swore, restarting his optics as Perceptor sat up on his elbows; they onlined with a burning crimson glow. The Autobot stared in bewildered incomprehension at the dark-faced jet.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" He asked softly, his voice carrying a tone that could only be concern.

Starscream snarled. "No, of course I'm not. Moron."

By now, Perceptor had spent enough time with Starscream to recognise when the seeker was being sarcastic, even when it was nowhere near obvious in his tone. "Hmm?"

For a klik or two there was heavy silence, broken only by the crying of the cicadas in the shrub further back on the windswept cliff top.

"Look," growled the jet, "I'm not good at empathy." A hint of awkward uncertainty crept into his voice, which became harsher and higher in a poor defensive attempt to disguise that he wasn't sure of himself. "I like to cause pain, you're not a masochist. I didn't understand why you don't like me biting, now I do, all right?"

Perceptor sat up next to his mate, torn somewhere between being amused and being… well, _touched_ that Starscream had thought it necessary to make a sacrifice for him. Perhaps the seeker actually_did_ view him as something more than a toy robot.

What a cheerful thought!

He reached out with both hands, brushing the sides of the dark helmet - yes, there was the flinch at the touch, there was the tremor that coursed across the guarded face - and kissed the Decepticon for his troubles.

And he was _happy_.

No, he shouldn't be here, no he shouldn't be so at ease with such a high-ranking enemy officer, no he shouldn't be _sharing_ himself with such a high-ranking enemy officer… but Primus above, he was _so_ glad.

Earth weeks ago, if someone had told him that he would be able to stomach not only looking at Starscream, but loving him too, he would have immediately reformatted their logic centres. Now, though, it was beginning to seem a distinct possibility, though he told himself that what he felt was by no means yet strong enough to be dubbed 'love'. That was just too cliché.

Logic be damned. War be damned. Why, if only they weren't sworn enemies, then there wouldn't have to be all this sneaking around, risking being found out by his comrades and accused of treachery…

Perceptor was, in a way, putting more at stake in this relationship. He had more to lose than Starscream, if only because Starscream's master knew him to be a conniving, backstabbing traitor and expected foul play from him. While Megatron doubtless would leap at the first excuse to get rid of his troublesome officer, Starscream had successfully wormed his way out of trouble for the last hundred thousand vorns; like a cockroach, he could continue to survive for another few thousand at least.

On the other hand, Perceptor was not the type associated with treason by his fellow Autobots. Even those who were not fond of him, like Brawn, agreed that he was fully and unwaveringly devoted to the cause. If _he_ was found in the company of a Decepticon - and not just any Decepticon, Starscream was despised more than most among the Autobot forces - then he would be, to use the colloquial, in deep transistor parts.

They would have to play it careful, then. The communicators would help. If even Perceptor had not been able to detect their true purpose or that Starscream had been beaming messages to his own people during his time as an Autobot refugee, then they would be safe. Undetectable. Except perhaps from Ratchet or Red Alert, but they were both very busy all the time - medicine and security (or, if he was feeling cruel, Perceptor would say paranoia instead of 'security') were not easy areas to specialise in. He knew. They would have more to worry about than a tiny unknown component.

And then the whole relationship seemed like such a good idea.

Starscream felt the warmth in himself, channelled from the Autobot, and glanced at his mate, who seemed so blissful and free. The silvery moonlight glinted in an ethereal way from the angular white face and the jet smirked, running his glossa over his lips. Yes, he was quite satisfied with his catch.

He moved slightly so that he was sat at the edge of the cliff, looking out over the sea. For his own reasons, he was loathe to return to his headquarters so soon, even now, cycles after Megatron's outburst. If anyone knew how to hold a grudge, it was the silver gun-transformer; Starscream was not relishing the thought of returning. Megatron really had thought he was selling information to the Autobots. He really had almost lost his life. He would need to convince Megatron that he hated the Autobots just as much as he ever did.

We-ell… maybe not _all_ the Autobots. Maybe they weren't all worthy of his hatred. And there was another reason that the jet was not eager to journey back to his own quarters and recharge. Though he would never admit it to the Autobot by word of mouth, he was fond of the company; Perceptor was intelligent enough to have an invigorating conversation with, should he need it, innocent enough to manipulate but with enough willpower to put up a fight. It was the perfect combination.

He'd left his mark on the red Autobot. In retaliation, he'd had a mark left on him - he'd be buggered with a rivet gun if he ever let Hook fill in those scratches over the Decepticon insignia on his wing.

As he sat and stared, Starscream became aware of a pressure on his left shoulder vent, barely recognising that he had not flinched away at the touch as he would usually do. He turned slightly to focus his optics and see what it was, and was surprised when he realised that it was Perceptor. The Autobot had moved to sit next to him, and had leaned the side of his dark helmet against the sangria metal of the air commander's protruding ventilation hatch.

A faint smile played about the pale mouth. Starscream stared for a moment longer and then matched it with his own bestial smirk and turned his gaze away again, finding the contact unexpectedly pleasant.

Neither of them said 'I love you'. Perceptor did not want to hear it, nor did he want to say it, as he was sure that he was not victim to such an emotion. Starscream, stubborn and wronged once many vorns ago, did not believe that love existed.

It didn't need to be said. It would only have spoiled the silence.

Far below, the waves lapped at the beach with a soothing, rhythmic splashing. The moon hung in the starry sky of velvet and illuminated Earth's surprisingly beautiful scenery. Even the two aliens, far from home, seemed as though they had been there since the dawn of time.

And that was how it was for another cycle, deep into the night. Only then, in the darkness, did they go their separate ways, unseen under the cover of blackness when all their fellows were in recharge.

It was known without being said that such a taboo could not be forever. After all, forever is too long for someone like Starscream, uncomfortable with stability, to settle for something, but both anticipated it lasting for a long time yet.

* * *

**Good grief.** That turned out a lot longer than I had at first anticipated, but it's finished at long last. 

To stem questions before they arise, **yes there is a sequel in the works**. I should start writing it very soon, juggling around moving back in to university, carrying on with work and having what I have jokingly dubbed a 'life'.

Thank you to all my readers, especially to the ones who left me feedback. Holes were picked, considered and refilled, and it was all thanks to those of you who took the time to comment.

And that's it for Until the Dream Ends. For anyone who is interested, I've scribbled in detail about writing it and the hows and the whys over at my livejournal. The URL is going up on my profile page. Once again, thank you for reading and I hope to see you at the sequel!


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